Perfect After All
by Jaya Mitai
Summary: Animeverse ONLY. Spoilers through CoS. Ed and Al begin their mission to find the uranium bomb, and Corporal Mustang is left to clean up Al's mess. When the brothers succeed, and even make it back to Amestris what have they really achieved? Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Full Metal Alchemist. Making no money. Please don't sue. See Author's Notes as the end of the chapter. Anime-based ONLY. Spoilers through _Conqueror of Shamballa_.

- x -

**Stuttgart, 1927**

Shivering fingertips drew imperfect lines. He knew it. Knew there was no time for imperfections. There would only be one opportunity to do this, and it looked as though he was going to fail.

Please. Please work.

It was getting harder to move around, and every time he knelt it was more and more inviting to stay there. His throat was bleeding quite badly now, he could taste the metallic sludge in the back of his mouth, and his breath whistled oddly. He could still breathe, though, and he would use every last one to accomplish this last goal.

He had to. Had to do it for nii-san.

Ed had done so much more for him.

His brother lay exactly where he'd dropped him, just outside of the badly-drawn transmutation circle. The closet was very small, it was almost impossible to draw a circle large enough and still keep his brother from touching it. Edward was still staring blankly at the ceiling. He showed no interest in the proceedings, and if he'd had the ability to speak, Alphonse would have been telling him exactly what he was doing. Drawing the seven-cornered transmutation circle.

Drawing it in his own blood, because there was nothing else to use.

And even if there had been, he wasn't sure anything else would have worked.

He had only minutes before he'd lose consciousness, and he was somewhat glad that he wasn't going to have to perform a full transmutation in this state. He wasn't sure he could. All he had to do was decompose the matter, not reassemble it into something else. And if that didn't work –

Well, that was why the transmutation circle was seven-pointed.

If nothing else, there were more than two people in Amestris that were alchemists. There was a better chance of it being destroyed there than here.

His shoulder throbbed in a way he hadn't felt since he'd been armor, his soul aching as if it could feel the blood seal that bonded it to cold iron. It was also bleeding quite heavily, and it was that blood, running down his trembling arm, that he was using as his ink. He was spattering droplets freely on the last half of the circle, but he had nothing to wipe them away with, and he carefully swallowed saliva and blood away as he finished the line that made up the outer perimeter.

It would be good enough to perform a base decomposition, at any rate. It probably wouldn't be enough to summon the gate even if he did die, but it was the best he could do.

If only nii-san would wake up!

He really should have found the automail. There was no telling what the scientists would do with it, and it probably wouldn't be that much harder to decompose it with everything else.

But there was no time.

Alphonse Elric pulled himself upright once more, blinking as his vision swam. It was probably past time; they were probably dying now, in that chamber directly below this glorified custodian's closet. Maybe they had already died. He didn't know much about the research, but he knew it was still in preliminary phases, so even if nii-san had been capable of speaking and remembering, he wouldn't have been able to give an accurate estimate of when to try to perform the decomposition.

He needed to try it now, before he passed out.

Before he died.

He couldn't leave this problem up to the alchemists, and he couldn't leave it up to the Germans, either. Not if he could help it.

Shakily, he settled back awkwardly on his haunches, trying to pull his feet out of the circle. It took up nearly the entire floor of the tiny space, leaving him little room to tuck himself out of the way. The odd posture pulled on both the bulletwounds simultaneously. The ache in his shoulder turned white-hot in an instant, and his throat seemed to pull stickily at itself. Both pain responses caused an uncontrollable quiver to run the length of his already shivering spine. Al still managed to bring his hands together, but the room spun crazily, and as he collapsed forward and to his left, he could no longer feel whether his palms had met the floor or not.

Not that it mattered. He'd collapsed on the circle itself. Even if he didn't complete the decomposition, at least his death would power the alchemic reaction even if the deaths in the room below could not.

If Colonel Mustang hadn't been able to seal that gate in the hidden city, perhaps they'd end up there. At least then he could be sure it would be found by a State Alchemist. It was the best he could hope for, now.

Alphonse forced his eyes open, hoping beyond hope to see the red glow of a decomposition, but he saw nothing but darkness. From far away he could hear a pounding sound, which he assumed was the soldiers trying to break down the door. Had the reaction begun to the point of causing the floor to tremble? Or had they simply figured out it was the only place the brothers could have hidden?

He hated to leave nii-san alone in this place, but he knew, better than anyone, that this is what Ed would have wanted.

They had to get rid of the uranium bomb, no matter what.

- x -

**Amestris, 1917**

He would have smiled if the view had been anything like what he'd imagined.

Not that he'd ever really imagined this scenario. Oh, today hadn't been the first time he'd ever been up in a balloon. His first balloon had been . . . around fifteen or so. Part of his training, long before the gift of ignition cloth and the level of technique he now possessed. It had been a harrowing experience of constantly struggling to maintain the temperature of the air to avoid igniting the cloth of the balloon, being unable to really control his altitude, and staring wild-eyed with what little time he had at the ground, attempting to figure out if he'd left the country yet. He had been absolutely certain he would never set foot on solid ground again.

So there had been little time for actual sightseeing. Little time to appreciate the beauty and understanding that seeing familiar landscape from above granted.

The part about little time still stood, he thought a bit sardonically, passing through a fairly thick column of smoke that was drifting across the city sky. It had dozens of siblings. Large clouds of dust still choked the air from the collapse of the secret city below Central and the consequences that collapse had wrought above. Few city blocks were untouched, and civilian casualties would be high.

Of course, given that two worlds and both Elric brothers had been involved, it was probably relatively little damage. At least Central hadn't disappeared into the sand altogether. Hadn't been the second city on the same spot to vanish in the span of a few hours.

It was probably a good thing Edward Elric's visit had been so brief. Hopefully Alphonse would have the sense not to tell him what had happened in the last several years.

The colonel passed through another thick cloud of smoke, coughing and blinking the tears out of his good eye. He needed that eye, needed to be able to see.

Needed to calculate where he was going to land, and what would be safe to destroy.

He was still around a thousand yards up, he didn't even know how high he'd been when he'd been shot down. Of course, the troops below had no idea that the enormous piece of debris descending towards them was no longer in the hands of the enemy, nor that it had a passenger. They should probably be commended for hitting it at all, considering they'd never before had to destroy a flying target so fast and so high.

Not that he would be the one commending them. Lauds from a corporal didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.

Unfortunately, study of the fast-approaching earth didn't yield the results he'd hoped for. He was not going to fall anywhere near the crater that revealed the underground city, and the place Alphonse had opened the gate. He was skilled, but he knew he didn't have reach enough to destroy that gate from here. It would be too difficult to manage the levels of oxygen in the air at his distance, and he didn't want more of the city to collapse in an uncontrolled underground explosion.

Not to mention he didn't really know how Alphonse had transmuted the gate to begin with, so there was no telling what it would take to destroy it.

And there was no doubt that he had to destroy it. He wasn't sure Armstrong would have the heart, and he was the only other alchemist that really had a handle on what was going on.

And since Al had leapt across to Ed's side of the flying vehicle, with the intent of traveling back through the gate, it was also obvious he was going to have to wait until they'd safely passed through. And he was going to hit the ground before that actually happened. Their half of the flying vehicle was just passing the mouth of the crater now, traveling far faster than his had been and safe from the soldiers' weapons.

So he needed to survive this fall.

The air was whipping at his uniform and hair as he gained speed, trying to creep around the seal of his eyepatch. He supposed he could transmute his uniform into another small balloon, but the circles on his gloves were specifically for gas manipulation, and he had neither the time nor the materials with which to draw a new one. He'd sink like a rock through a cloud of helium, so there was no point in transmuting the atmosphere around him. Not to mention he'd also have a good chance of incinerating himself doing that, considering his previous vehicle was falling in burning pieces all around him.

No, there was really nothing else for it.

Roy Mustang closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to memorize the way the wind felt against his face.

- x -

He couldn't quite bring himself to put down the weapon, still staring at the mounds of inactive armor. After all, hadn't they been dead in Lior and yet continued to fight? These had fallen from the skies onto the streets, only to get to their feet with their strange guns and continue to fight.

He hadn't seen any walking armor for the better part of five years, and he had certainly liked the younger Elric brother a great deal better than these. Even if Alphonse Elric's armor had been empty, it was a hell of lot less creepy than being filled with a dead, mangled human body.

Where had these people come from? What did they want? Why had they attacked, and where was their general?

He didn't need to glance to know that the rest of the team was as shocked as he was. It had been, literally, years since they'd fought so desperately. The idea that the conflict was suddenly over –

A far-off rumble drew his attention to the sky. He didn't know when the stone column had sprung from the city to impale the attacking airship, but he had no doubt it was the work of alchemy. Across the plaza, he thought he could see the outline of the ex-Lieutenant Colonel between two massive chunks of armor, so clearly Armstrong wasn't responsible for the monolithic structure that was now crumbling.

Al Elric. He knew of no one else that could transmute something so large so quickly.

Nor did he know of someone else who would be so unafraid of something that they'd never seen before. The walking dead, ships that seemed to fly on a platform of fire – surely this was also the work of alchemy? What else could it have been?

Heymans Breda watched the newly freed airship begin to lazily circle, wondering. If Alphonse Elric had been the one to impale it, the fact that it was now freed meant he had somehow gained access to it. He had probably ridden the column of stone to the top, and used it to place a hole in the great thing. Fuery and Falman still had their weapons trained toward the sky, and he followed suit after a moment.

It looked like a dragon, with that curved tail, the odd spires on the wings, the fire that propelled it through the sky. What if the attacking general was also a great alchemist? Could the younger, kinder of the Elrics defeat such a foe?

As it began a slow turn, he noted something past it, much higher in the sky. For a moment he thought it was another ship, but it was shaped like an elongated balloon . . . and there was a green symbol –

His eyes widened.

The flag over Central.

A balloon.

"The colonel . . ." he whispered.

Even if Alphonse Elric couldn't, Colonel Mustang could.

The ship began to fly back towards the city, towards the great hole it had first erupted from. Neither Falman nor Fuery gave an order, but they lowered their weapons, and the enlisted men around them followed suit. They watched in silence as the airship leveled out, and Breda was about to start an up close and personal inspection of the dead suits of armor when their Warrant Officer, Vato Falman, gestured back towards the sky.

"What do you make of that?"

Heymans turned his gaze back towards the sky in time to see a great chunk of the huge ship break away. The flames brightened, though, and the great dark dragon suddenly turned sharply towards the ground.

Elric and the colonel were taking it back where it came from.

"Should we –"

"No," he responded, glancing back towards his right. Havoc was there, extinguished cigarette glued to his probably dry lips, staring not at the retreating dragon but the sizable piece of debris it had shed. Was that due to the damage the two alchemists had done it, or was that . . .

Was that another weapon of some kind?

A shell exploded far short of the cube of debris, and several seconds later a sharp retort echoed across the broken façade of the plaza. It really was too clean of a shear to have fallen apart from damage to the ship, clearly it had been jettisoned on purpose –

And clearly, whichever armored unit Fuery had called to the plaza had come to the same conclusion.

He exchanged a look with Havoc. What if the colonel and Elric had managed to use alchemy to steer the dragon ship? What if –

What if they'd jettisoned themselves?

Well, then, surely a few shells wouldn't be a problem. Likely that first one had fallen short because the Colonel had seen and detonated it with alchemy. Considering he'd survived both the Ishbal war and his fight with the homunculus Fuhrer, it wasn't as though the Colonel was really in any danger, and likely Alphonse Elric could transmute the piece of debris into a parachute or something, they'd be fine –

Another explosion, much closer this time. Breda shook his head, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. He had seen a line of ignition in the air just prior to the shell's exploding, hadn't he?

Another, a beat later.

On the mark.

It took the sound of the blast almost five full seconds to reach them, but they'd already seen the cube shatter. It hadn't transmuted into anything. There hadn't been a blue shine indicating a transmutation circle. There hadn't been an ignition line before, then. Just a trick of his eyes. Obviously the falling chunk was just that, and even if it was a weapon, it was better they break it into smaller pieces so the debris didn't take out more of the city than it had to.

"Oy. Breda?"

Heymans glanced over again at Jean, surprised when the Second Lieutenant raised his weapon again. He was using the sight, and Breda knew he was a fair shot. Of course, with Hawkeye in their midst it was often overlooked, but Jean Havoc knew his way around both pistols and rifles. He wouldn't be pointing it unless he intended to use it.

And he was pointing it at the falling fragments of dragon-ship.

"Havoc?"

The ever-present cigarette shifted uncharacteristically as the brownish-blonde man licked his lips.

"I think maybe we should've made Fuery call off the armors."

He was dropping the rifle fairly quickly, obviously trained on some target, but still he didn't shoot. From his position to the left of the marksman Breda could see that Jean was following one particular piece of the debris, and the closer it came, the more he realized it wasn't just a piece of metal or stone.

It was a person.

The limbs weren't flailing, and it was very hard to see without the magnification of a scope, but it was certainly not a suit of armor. Surely it wasn't Alphonse, he would have transmuted the falling remains around him by now. And it couldn't be –

It couldn't be the colonel.

He'd imagined the ignition line. Surely it wasn't Mustang.

"That's not one of ours, is it?"

Jean expelled his breath in an almost resigned attitude. He kept the rifle trained, lowering it slowly as his sighted target continued to plunge towards the city.

No, that was impossible. It couldn't be, it just couldn't –

Kain had caught part of their conversation. He poked his head out above the sandbags, but Breda didn't even spare him a look. "Havoc, what do you see?"

Jean didn't answer.

Just as the plummeting figure hit the line of damaged city buildings and fell from Breda's view, he was certain he saw a thin, brilliantly yellow line shoot towards the ground. He felt the rumble in the cobblestones beneath him before he even heard the explosion, but he waited, he waited until the dust from the strike floated hazily over the buildings and into view.

An explosion . . .

A body wouldn't make that kind of impact, no matter how fast it hit the ground.

He pushed himself to his feet, throwing the shoulderstrap of his machine gun over his neck and securing his sidearm. Second Lieutenant Havoc was already moving, leaping over the dead suits of armor. Falman and Fuery were exchanging glances, but Breda couldn't spare them his attention. All he could do was watch.

The rest of the shattered chunks of dragon-ship had fallen with the body, and their impacts made perceptible but faint vibrations as well. The accompanying sounds were much flatter, much quieter.

There was no doubt about it. It had been an explosion.

A moment later his legs were pumping, carrying him in hot pursuit of the sprinting lieutenant. He didn't remember making the decision to start running, but now that he was he was certain it was correct.

That had been the colonel.

He'd set off an explosion just before he'd hit the ground. To buffer his fall, use the shockwave to slow himself down . . .? But with the wreckage falling like that, he'd have been crushed. And it had been a hard-fought area, if any of those suits of armor were still active –

"Oy! Breda! Havoc!"

He never looked back.

- x -

**Free State of Württemberg****, 1924**

"Nii-san . . . are you sure about this?"

He carefully kept the doubtful tones hidden, trying to pass the comment off as simple conversation. It was much easier with his new voice, which he supposed wasn't technically 'new' anymore since he'd had over a year to get used to it. What he'd missed were the several years' worth of puberty where his voice was supposed to gradually get deeper. He'd arrived on the other side of the Gate and there it had been, along with a seventeen year old's body and his missing memories.

Daily training had gotten him over the initial klutziness of his suddenly longer limbs, but he wasn't sure anything but time would help him adjust to the fact that he barely recognized his voice when he spoke.

Edward didn't seem to have the same trouble adjusting to it as he had, and in his heart he knew it was because Edward had sought out his 'Earth version,' as they liked to call them. The familiar faces and personalities they'd come to know and love in Amestris, living different but similar lives in this diverse continent called 'Europe.'

Edward had gotten used to the seventeen year old version of him, right before that boy had been killed sending Edward through the Gate back to Amestris. Back to Central.

Back to him.

And, incidentally, it was that Alfonse that was causing him to ask the question in the first place.

Edward was lying on his back in the narrow bed beside his, his flesh and blood arm thrown carelessly above his head. His right arm lay across his stomach, the automail fingers curling and uncurling in their new glove of flexible, flesh-colored rubber. They'd found a much better adhesive that made the fingers stick better to the automail joints, hiding the prosthetics much better than the previous glove had.

Incidentally, another reason they were having the conversation.

Ed was staring at the ceiling, but his golden eyes were looking far past it. "Don't worry, Al. I've got it all figured out."

"Where have I heard that before?" he quipped lightly, knowing the seriousness of the situation in which he _had_ heard that before would sink in without any addition from his tone of voice. "The journals also mention American engineering, and their military is based in a democratic government. Surely their research is just as advanced –"

"Alphonse."

He resisted the urge to turn his head, preferring to stare at the ceiling as well. It was fairly cracked, thin white paint over ancient plaster, and if he squinted just right the pattern just to the left of the old brass light fixture looked sort of like Aunt Pinko.

He frowned softly at the ceiling. He hadn't seen her Earth version yet, and he was afraid he wouldn't. Many of the old had died in the previous war, so all-encompassing they had called it a 'world war.'

Incidentally, one of the reasons they probably couldn't travel to America. And probably one Ed would use the opportunity to remind him of.

"We can't go to America." He waved his automail hand casually. "For one, we don't have the money."

That was true. After the World War, Germany's main currency, the mark, had continued to plummet in value, and the current strike was not helping. Another reason why war was not far off. They were currently staying in southern Germany in the Weimar Republic, which happened to be the city the German National Government had moved their official seat after the events in Berlin. And even despite that, with the strike, commercial uses for their 'physics,' innovative as they were, were few and far between. No one would sponsor them to the point they could assemble anything useful.

Except, of course, the German Communist Republic. They were eager to get their hands on any new invention and weaponize it. And every other military in every surrounding country. While Prussia's Prime Minister seemed the only sane leader of the lot, he wasn't really sure Ed was leaning in the direction of Prussia. Poland seemed more stable.

"Well, we can't stay in Germany. The name Edward Elric is still music to the Thule society ears. They're still hunting us, nii-san," he reminded his brother.

He could actually hear the grin in his brother's voice when he replied. "Tringham is a very German-sounding name, don't you think, Herr Fletcher?"

Al thought it over from several angles. Then he gave up, and chuckled softly. "Getting them back for using our names, nii-san?"

"I seriously doubt we can get them in trouble here," Ed's voice was soft.

"There are many countries that have nothing to do with this war," he tried again.

"And how many of them are likely to have a use for that uranium bomb?" Ed's voice was even softer. "We didn't bring it here, but we can't ignore it."

"We'll have a hard time finding it from prison, nii-san."

Ed snorted, but didn't respond. Al sighed, and scanned the ceiling for any more familiar faces. "Even using their names, eventually someone will recognize you. The blonde hair will help us, but we inherited our Father's eyes . . ."

It was true that their hair color would get them boosted through the German military pretty swiftly. This 'perfect German race' talk seemed to push its way into all the mainstream entertainment, despite the fact that the majority of purebred Germans had dark hair and eyes. Their hair would just make them stand out more, not less.

Of course, standing out more would be exactly what it would take to get advanced to the point of attaining knowledge of the uranium bomb, assuming the German military had it. They didn't have much time before the discontent with the Treaty of Versailles and the strikes led to a massive boil-over within the villages of Germany itself. The entire country was almost vibrating with rage and insult, feeling both oppressed and underestimated.

It would only be a few years before malcontent in the land would spread across the borders, and they'd make the same mistakes all over again.

"What do you want to do, Al?"

The question came out of the blue, but he should have expected it. What he wanted, more than anything, was to quickly find the uranium bomb and spend the rest of his life here . . . learning. Growing. Finding a way to give back to Ed what he'd sacrificed for him. Again.

Of course, medical science just hadn't progressed far enough to grow him a new arm or leg, but very interesting articles involving the implanting of organs from one person into the body of another were being published, and should that research continue on, perhaps entire limbs were still an option. Of course, they wouldn't be Ed's original limbs, but they would be living, feeling limbs and wouldn't require him to hide his arm and leg in those sheets of fleshy rubber.

The idea of returning to Amestris was as far a dream to him now as finding the Philosopher's Stone had been when he was eleven. It would be nice, certainly, and if enough humans died in this place, there was even the chance they could catalyze a strong enough alchemic reaction to call the Gate. But he was just as determined as Ed that that would never happen.

And the biggest hurdle to stopping a war that would result in so many dead was finding that uranium bomb.

"I want to stop this war," he admitted, mostly to the ceiling. "To do that, we need to find the bomb. But after that . . . this world is so big, nii-san. We can't stop every war. Politics are even more complex here than they were back home. Too many governments, too many divided lands . . . we can't stop them all."

It was a long time before he got a response. "You're right," Ed agreed quietly. "But we're part of the reason that bastard was able to bring the bomb to the Gate, and part of the reason it was able to pass through. That's our responsibility to this world, Al. No matter what, we have to stop them from setting off that bomb."

Al found a pattern that looked very much like Black Hayate. "They have physicists here, nii-san. Eventually, they'll find uranium too." This world seemed to have all the same minerals that theirs did, so it truly was an eventuality they needed to consider. "What will we do then?"

Ed continued to open and close his automail fist. "We'll stop them from setting it off." He made it sound as though they'd made breakfast plans for the following morning. "This world is our world, Al. We can't just let it be someone else's problem."

"You're not a State Alchemist anymore, Edward." Al said it more forcefully than he really meant to, but once he heard it, he had no choice but to continue. "Even taking the name Tringham, even becoming dogs of this military – how will we become so important in this world that we can stop something like this? When this world is so fragmented, and the medals of one country mean nothing to another?"

Ed sighed softly. "Then we'll need to get medals in all the countries."

Oh. Of course. Al closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of Edward's soft, steady breaths. How many nights he'd lain awake in the Rockbell home, listening to Winry as she slept, wondering if that was how it sounded to sleep beside his brother. When his memories returned, he knew it was nothing like that sound, but it was a sound he couldn't get enough of. The memories of the time he had lived twice still collided in his head, and it was hard to separate a fear from one from the reality he'd learned in the other.

He knew what it felt like to lose Edward. He was not going to lose him in this world, where there was no Philosopher's Stone, even if he was willing to transmute it. There was no alchemy at all. No way to create a shield, he had no armor that would protect them in the nick of time. Here, they could be shot as easily as anyone else. Here, in a world where life was getting cheaper by the sunset.

It was this world Edward was proposing charging directly into without fear. Only Edward hadn't lived parts of his life twice. He had lived all his years but once, and sometimes Al wasn't sure he really realized he wasn't six feet tall and bulletproof. He was still a genius, but he wasn't globally recognized as one. The rank he'd enjoyed in Amestris was simply unattainable in this world, and thus all he knew of political tactics was fairly worthless.

And was that really true? Was it fair for him to think that he'd so easily become familiar with this world when his brother had spent twice as much time here?

"Do you really believe the German military still has the bomb?"

Ed just snorted. "I saw the photograph, Al. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Al left his eyes closed. "As many times as it takes, Herr Russell."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: After devouring the anime in less than a week and the movie shortly thereafter, I discovered something. I was mostly satisfied with the end of the anime. The anime didn't make me want to start writing FMA fanfic. The movie totally did. It's a giant gaping . . . invitation to be fixed. And you guys know me and trying to fix being left unsatisfied with a story.

The purpose of this fic is to clean up a few gaping plotholes, including why Al and Ed can pass through the Gate so many times without getting seriously screwed up, what happened to the gate on Amestris, how alchemy actually works on Earth, and motives of the Gate itself. Haven't read the manga yet, which I understand fixes a few of these problems, but I do fully intend to someday. If there were some other plotholes you guys noticed in the movie that need to be cleaned up, remind me! I'll fix everything all pretty and shiny. Despite this bleak beginning, expect everything to come up roses.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

**The Gate, time irrelevant**

"Make him the way he was before!"

It was open; the cordlike golden strands that he knew made up the interior of the gate were completely hidden by the darkness and the eyes. The long arms, the tiny hands hadn't started reaching out for him yet, but he knew it was only a few more seconds before they went for Ed.

They always went for Ed. The last time they'd gone through the Gate, when he'd gotten his body back, they'd gone for Ed, too.

Nii-san was calm and unafraid, and he was _there_. He wasn't simply staring at nothing. He wasn't trembling. His golden eyes were open and steady, and they were fixed on his right arm.

It wasn't just his automail in a rubber glove. It couldn't have been, because he didn't have his automail anymore. It hadn't been in his cell, and it hadn't been in his laboratory. Al didn't know what had happened to it, but it didn't matter now.

Ed was whole again.

How could this be?

"Al?" he said quietly, flexing his fingers a few times before glancing at the Gate, "What's going on?"

Of course, he didn't have his bulletholes, either, did he? Hadn't he just spoken?

Al reached up and gingerly touched his throat. The torn flesh, the ragged edges that had felt so foreign to him were gone, and his skin was smooth. Of course, it was likely that he was merely his soul and mind at this point, he might have already had to exchange his body again, or he may have accidentally decomposed it when it fell into the circle. He might have died. It didn't really matter.

He tried to hide the gesture by rubbing the back of his neck and arranging a silly grin on his face. He was really too old for it, but no matter how long he spent with nii-san, he would always feel like the younger brother.

"I tried to decompose the uranium bomb, nii-san," he said, by way of explanation. "I don't know if I succeeded, though, so look for it on the other side!"

Ed just stared at him, his flesh and blood arm apparently forgotten. "Al?"

"Don't worry!" he exclaimed, watching the thin arms snaking out of the Gate towards his brother. "Just get to the other side and make sure we did it, okay? And remember to thank Winry and the Colonel for me!"

Ed saw them coming, too, and despite the years on Earth, he instinctively clapped his hands and waved one – over his human arm. He did not transmute it into a blade, being skin and not the metals he was expecting, and then the black arms had him once more.

"Al! Wait, Al!" he shouted, and then he was gone.

The arms yanked the Gate shut behind them.

Alphonse Elric waited a moment, listening to the ringing silence. There was light to see the Gate by, an ambient glow that didn't seem to have a direct source. But there was no wind, nothing else to make noise. Once the echo of the Gate's refusal stopped reverberating, there was a great sense of empty space going on infinitely.

Ed didn't force himself back out. No one else did, either, not Wrath, not Envy, not his father. If there could have been tumbleweed in front of the Gate, he would have expected some to drift by.

After a few tense seconds, he dared to take a step towards the Gate.

Nothing happened.

Al studied the closed Gate. Was this Truth? Did he gain a greater understanding just by looking at this dark, monolithic structure with its tortured statuary and imposing air? Or was it like sensei had said? Was it Hell?

Could he summon her out, and ask her?

The last time he'd gone through, he'd been on an airship, in a suit of armor, and he hadn't gotten a chance to really stare at it. All he'd seen was that the arms had snaked into the armor in a way that reminded him a bit sadly of Martel, and then they had withdrawn.

They'd never touched him. Perhaps they hadn't realized he was there, considering he was in two containers. But that didn't make sense, because they attacked all the other men in armor –

"Why didn't you take me?" he asked aloud. "Am I dead?"

The Gate remained silent several moments longer.

Then it swung open.

- x -

**Amestris, 1917**

The sudden explosion caught her off-guard, and she glanced toward the sky, not trusting her ears. Sound bounced between the storefronts, down alleyways, was buffeted by the wind. Something that loud would have to make smoke, or at the very least a large cloud of dust. That dust would rise, and tell her where the sound had originally been produced.

She found her answer immediately – what had been a sizable piece of debris from the damaged airship was bursting into pieces, and she watched them only a second before she shifted her gaze back to the ship itself. It had broken away from the transmuted stone column that had impaled it, which meant –

Either Alphonse Elric and the Colonel had succeeded in taking the airship, or they had failed.

The tiniest metallic scraping sound caught her attention, and she immediately dropped her gaze, scanning the market for any signs of motion. She'd half expected these dead troops to drop when their general was defeated, but it was becoming clear that they were able to continue functioning, probably as long as that general was here.

Which begged the question, where had this attacking force come from? The quick answer was out of the ground, and it explained the earthquakes, but that just spiraled into a series of mysteries.

Someone needed to get a handle on how and where the enemy was going to regroup, and given the way command had been scattered throughout the city, she was fairly certain no one had done extensive recon yet.

There was a terrific smashing sound directly behind her, and First Lieutenant Hawkeye didn't even jump. It had been a long time since she'd last fought with the former Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong, but you never quite forgot the way his metal-clad fists sounded when they were utterly annihilating something.

He hadn't even used alchemy. He was just that strong.

"Miss Hawkeye!" he protested in his heavily accented voice. "You should be more careful."

She turned to face him, lowering her Browning 1910 to a rest position. "I was distracted," she admitted. "Lt. Colonel, do you know where the enemies' ships were first spotted?"

He tossed the smashed armor behind him casually, using his now-freed right hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "Judging by the strength of the earthquake and the airship's current heading, I would say the enemy attacked us from beneath the city."

Beneath the city.

The hidden city, then. But hadn't the reports said its inhabitants had died a long time ago? Surely after all this time they wouldn't launch an attack?

Hawkeye glanced up again, watching the newly freed airship begin a steep banking towards the city. If the colonel and Al were still on that ship . . . where did they intend to take it? And if they had been captured –

"Come on!" she barked, and without another second's pause, headed immediately in its direction.

It didn't matter if Alphonse Elric and the Colonel were still on that ship or not. They weren't going to get any intel on the enemy unless they located one that was still alive. The bodies in these armors were all dead from their impact with the ground, falling from their ships as they were spread throughout the city. Maybe they'd been dead before that. Shooting them in the head seemed to take them down permanently, so obviously there was still something left of them, but she hadn't heard a one of them speak, or cry out in pain.

Maybe they were incapable of speech. It would certainly be useful to deploy troops that were completely unable to leak intelligence if captured.

And if the Colonel and Al were on that airship, and they actually had control of it somehow –

Then just where the hell did he think he was going without her?

Surely he _was_ on the airship. Once she'd gotten a brief moment she'd used her rifle to find the balloon, drifting harmlessly out to the south and losing altitude. There had been no one in the basket. There was no doubt he'd abandoned it at some point, and its trajectory should have taken it reasonably near that stone column.

Armstrong followed her without protest, his footsteps odd in his patent leather loafers rather than the hard rubber of their military-issue footwear. She had missed him, though she'd be unlikely to admit it around the others. His trust had seemed to mean a lot to the colonel, and had come at a time when he needed that reassurance.

The disappearance of Edward Elric wouldn't have had nearly the effect on the colonel if Hughes had still been around. She didn't know what Maes had done after the Ishbal conflict, but whatever it was Mustang had needed, she hadn't been able to give him. Seeing him saunter up to Central, raising his right hand in that arrogant gesture she'd seen a thousand times – he was still in there.

Roy Mustang was still lurking inside that dejected man. She'd seen him with her own eyes.

And just as soon as he'd arrived, he'd slipped away again.

Riza Hawkeye noted the motion in her peripheral vision this time, and she'd already braced her lead leg against an inactive suit of armor and taken aim before she realized she was sighting a friendly. At least, it was wearing the blue uniform of Amestris, but it couldn't really be Jean Havoc –

And not twenty steps behind him was Heymans Breda. Also sprinting.

She paused a moment, wondering if she should order them to come with her; obviously, they were on some mission of their own. It was taking them in the same direction, though –

"Havoc!"

He'd seen her, obviously, but he didn't slow. Instead, he waved his hand nonchalantly in acknowledgement, possibly even dismissal, and otherwise ignored her.

Riza's eyes narrowed as she watched Breda do much the same. They were about to disappear into the alley of what used to be the tanner's and a seamstress's, when Falman and Fuery burst into the scene, apparently in pursuit.

"Oh," Armstrong murmured, at her right shoulder. "I wonder where they could be going in such a hurry?"

She didn't even glance back, she just started after them. Had they already decided to follow the fast-sinking airship to its landing position? It was trailing a great deal of black smoke, but she assumed that was actually a symptom of its propulsion method and not actual damage. It didn't appear to be crashing, it certainly looked like a retreat –

"Miss Hawkeye!"

By the time she made it across the ruined intersection, Fuery and Falman had caught up. Both seemed surprised to see her, and both were already out of breath. How far had they run? She thought they'd been commanding the dispersion of the armor units throughout the city, but obviously they'd met up with Breda and Havoc at some point –

"Where are they going?" She gestured at the other two, now out of sight down the alley.

Fuery was staring at her with wide eyes, the effect further accentuated by his round glasses. He apparently didn't have the breath to speak, because he just shook his head and kept running. She kept pace with them, not surprised to see the Strong Arm Alchemist bounding along effortlessly behind them.

Fuery didn't know why they were following? Then again, neither did she. Their party narrowed obediently to a single file line as they passed through the cramped alley, dodging several charred and still-burning fragments of homes, of the city, of the enemy's vehicles. The shopping district had been one of the first to be defended, and suits of armor littered the street.

She scanned them quickly, but none seemed to be reacting to their presence. It was odd, that there would still be fires burning here considering it had been several hours since this portion of the grid had been declared retaken. Even as she watched, tiny pieces of debris were still raining down, trailing lines of soot through the dusty air.

She glanced up, noting the haziness of the sky, and realized they had come to the crash site of that destroyed piece of airship.

Did Havoc or Breda think more of the armored troops had been deployed? Could the enemy have survived both the fall and the shelling, when a head shot seemed to take them down?

She would have asked, but after the slightest of pauses, both the Second Lieutenants had continued down another, much wider, corridor, to the northern blocks of the shopping district.

Despite his lazy demeanor, she'd done enough training with Havoc to know that he could run all day. It was a little weird, that such a heavy smoker could still run twelve or more miles consecutively if he had to, but he kept himself well enough fit. Breda, on the other hand, had a much heavier build, and wasn't suited for sprinting. They'd have to slow down sometime.

The four of them emerged from the alley into what had once been the corner of the main street market. A few of the shorter buildings had gone down recently, but not in the last few minutes. So this damage hadn't been caused by the crash of the wreckage –

Havoc and Breda had already come to that conclusion. She saw them staggering to a stop just a few dozen yards east, and she followed them, keeping her pistol ready.

Small wisps of smoke still curled up from beneath the grey stones, a sure indication of recent fire now extinguished. The two Second Lieutenants were standing before what had once been two equally-sized shops, and judging from the way the rubble had fallen, something large had landed directly between them. The impact and resulting explosion had created enough of a shockwave to shatter the glass on every storefront within the block. The cobblestones directly in front of the two destroyed shops were also badly charred, as though something had detonated directly on the spot Havoc and Breda now stood.

But despite the damage to the two shops, and the glass, the rest of the block was relatively unscathed. How could something have hit the ground with enough force to completely destroy two several-story stone buildings and not touch any of the surrounding ones?

And where had it gone? There was nothing in the wreckage of the shops that seemed alien. No twisted pieces of slag, not even so much as a piece of the enemy's armor.

Hawkeye slowed to a jog, then a walk, scanning the street as she approached the gasping men. Whatever it had been, it was too big to hide in what rubble lay in the street, so it had either already left the area, or it was occupying one of the larger buildings. As she came to a stop directly behind Breda, she noticed something else strange.

There was alien wreckage in the street, many yards away. Still smoldering pieces of dark metal lay in the street, a few holes in roofs indicated where other pieces had pierced them. But there should have been a much higher concentration of dross in this immediate area, unless the shockwave had knocked it all aside -

But then, if it had made such a large explosion, it would have been a bomb, an explosive designed for such a thing, and who would design an explosive that would do such specific damage to such a worthless target?

Breda turned as she approached them and grimaced, still gasping. Havoc took several deep breaths, then cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Oy, Colonel! Can you hear me?"

Colonel?

Colonel Mustang?

Suddenly the charring in front of the shop, the focused design of the explosion, it all made sense. He'd used alchemy to destroy the two shops in order to create a shockwave powerful enough break up the largest piece of debris before it could take out the block? But the armor units had done a pretty good job of that, what could he have seen falling that –

What had he been doing in this section of the city? How could he have gotten there? Even if he had abandoned the balloon elsewhere, the prevailing winds were blowing south, not north.

"Colonel!" Havoc tried again, hopping onto the rubble like a man half his age. "Are you here?"

Breda was looking over the rubble, and he broke left, circling around while Havoc continued to explore the main ruins of the shops. Fuery brushed past her, taking the right side without word, and she turned on Falman, who was approaching her outright.

"Falman, what's going on?"

The gray-haired man looked as grim as ever, and he had the audacity to reach out and take her by the elbow. "Lieutenant, don't you think we need to reorganize the armor units and deploy –"

Riza yanked her arm out of his grasp, and his always-narrow eyes closed further. "What was the Colonel doing here?" Had Breda and Havoc known he was in that district? For what purpose? Had they responded when they'd realized the falling wreckage was going to land right on him?

Oh, god. Flames and explosive atmospheric gases were well and good, but his flavor of alchemy wasn't designed to ward off multiple incoming ballistics. Surely he wouldn't have been careless enough to get caught up in his own shockwave, but what if it had incapacitated him? He tended to go a little overboard when excited, and even if he still had access to the red stone this would have been a fairly major alchemic reaction –

Falman tried to start again, and by the tone of his voice she knew he wasn't going to answer her question. "Lieutenant, I –"

"Answer me, Second Lieutenant. That's an order. Was he here when the wreckage fell?"

Vato hesitated, then saluted smartly. "I do not know, First Lieutenant Hawkeye!"

She glared at him in irritation, but he didn't offer any further information. Armstrong began to speak, but she ignored him, heading straight for the rubble. If Jean was calling for the Colonel and they were focusing their search here, clearly they thought he was here. The why didn't matter. All that mattered was finding him.

Of course, looking in the rubble itself was probably not going to yield any clues, the colonel wouldn't be stupid enough to destroy a building he was in. Shockwaves spread out equally in all directions, and the fact that this one had been generated between two buildings had allowed the blast to be focused almost directly up. It explained why the buildings besides these shops were still standing. The charring in front of the shops indicated another place he'd ignited a large concentration of oxygen, which had prevented the blast from moving vertically.

Everything had been pointed up . . . to prevent damage to the surrounding buildings, or to stop something from hitting them?

But if that was the case, then where the hell was it?

She jogged across the street, her boots crunching on a surprisingly small amount of glass. Most of the storefront windows had shattered inward, so if he hadn't been careful, he could have been cut to pieces by it. For him to control such a large reaction, he'd have had to have been fairly close by. He would be in one of these buildings.

She chose the one directly across from the destroyed shops, which she knew had once been a bakery. Not only had the main window been blown out, but the glass display cases as well, their cakes, pastries, and rolls now sliced to pieces by the force of the explosion and the flying shards. They were all still basically intact, though – there was no evidence anything as large as a body had been thrown through the case. It would have knocked aside many of the baked goods.

She turned carefully, grinding pieces of glass gratingly into the tile floor as leaned across the counter. Luckily, it didn't appear as though any employees had been here either when he'd detonated it – there were no bodies, no blood. A shadow seemed to pass over the sun outside, and she turned to see the massive form of the Strong Arm Alchemist in the window.

"Miss Hawkeye." It wasn't a question, and it was quite formal. He then spun on his heels, remaining at an almost parade rest outside the storefront.

Confused, she crunched her way back across the floor and stepped through the ruined windowframe, catching sight of the others. Breda and Havoc had returned to the front of the building, and they and Falman were huddled together, heads bowed as they quietly discussed something. She headed directly towards them, and Armstrong flanked her once more.

This time, Jean Havoc didn't ignore her. He caught her gaze and brought his head up sharply, immediately ending the hushed conversation. Breda and Falman glanced her way, then stepped aside, and she saw what it was they had been looking at.

Havoc was holding a scrap of bright white fabric.

He didn't say anything, and neither did she. She merely marched up to him and took it from his unresisting hands. She stared at the scrap as if in a dream, rubbing it between her fingers carefully before enclosing it tightly in her fist. There was no red transmutation circle embroidered into it, but there was no doubt it was ignition cloth.

It just wasn't the back. It was a piece of the palm of the glove, or possibly the cloth around the wrist.

The edges were torn, not neatly cut, and the fabric was mostly clean. No blood.

"Where did you find this?" Her voice was absolutely flat.

"Near the back of the collapsed wall of the building on the left," Breda answered. She pinned him with a look.

"Why did you think Colonel Mustang would be here? Was he following the wreckage?"

Havoc sighed quietly, and plucked the cigarette from his lips. "He was the wreckage, Riza. He fell."

She gripped the ignition cloth harder.

That was why the explosion had been focused upward.

He'd been trying to catch himself.

She took a breath. Then she took another. She was not going to panic. What had happened, happened. If he wasn't responding to their calls, it didn't necessarily mean anything. He could be unconscious. He could be hurt. He'd certainly be nearby, and he would be in plain sight. He wouldn't be under the rubble if the explosion had occurred before he'd hit the ground.

And he wasn't in plain sight. So either he had already moved himself, or –

Or –

An impossibly enormous hand clapped down on her shoulder with enough force to nearly send her staggering to her knees.

He fell.

He wasn't on the airship.

Which meant that it was either still under the control of the attacking general, or –

"What about Alphonse Elric?" No one else could have transmuted that stone column except Armstrong, and he'd been with her the entire time.

Havoc was watching her carefully. "I didn't see him," he admitted. "Look, Hawkeye, just because we –"

Kain came running around the corner, interrupting them by slipping on some loose stone and nearly going down. He got to his feet quickly, and he looked a little frantic, but he said nothing.

So he hadn't found the Colonel either. Unless he'd been injured, and dragged himself into one of these nearby shops to avoid being hit with the rest of the falling metal?

"Falman, Fuery, continue searching this grid. I want you to comb every room in every shop in a three block radius. Kain, contact us by radio when your sweep is done. Breda, Havoc, you're with me."

She started to take a step, but Armstrong's immovable hand on her shoulder stopped her dead in her tracks. She took a shallow breath, then turned towards his hand. She refused to look at him.

He cried at the drop of a hat, and if he was weeping now, she didn't want to see it.

The colonel was fine. Until she saw his body, she would continue to believe that he was fine.

If the shockwave was powerful enough to tear sturdy fabric like ignition cloth, the logical part of her mind whispered, it was powerful enough to tear his hand right off his body. It was possible they'd never find a big enough piece to identify him.

"I believe Alphonse Elric boarded the enemy's airship," she said, as calmly as she could. "Therefore, we will proceed to the rumored contact point and perform reconnaissance. You are no longer a member of this Parliament's military, Mr. Armstrong. You do not need to endanger yourself –"

"I am a State Alchemist," he reminded her, his voice strong and proud. "I will accompany you, Miss Hawkeye."

He squeezed her shoulder too tightly, as though he could transmute some of his strength into her, and then he released her. She began walking immediately, but the pace seemed too slow, and soon she'd broken into a jog. Then a run.

She didn't let go of the piece of ignition cloth.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Okay, so I lied. It'll have to be three parts. This was the best place to split it yet again, so sorry about the short chapter. If you notice anything amiss, let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

**Amestris, 1921**

It was a quarter to three in the afternoon when she heard the scream.

Sheska froze, her fingers convulsively gripping the volumes she'd been considering just nanoseconds ago. She closed her eyes immediately, slowed her preparatory shrieking breath into something more calm, and did exactly what she had been trained to do in exactly this situation.

She counted, very slowly, to three.

The scream sounded like it was coming from the entrance hall, and when she got to two and a half it broke off into a choked yell.

Sheska couldn't understand it. She'd counted to three exactly like she'd been instructed, but didn't feel any calmer. Despite First Lieutenant Ross' steady but imaginary voice reassuring her, she promptly fell back on her tried and true coping mechanism. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and answered the scream with one of her own.

If the first one hadn't gotten much attention, hers certainly did. Perhaps it was because hers was a female voice, and at least an octave and a third above the other. The sounds of heavy military combat boots on finished wood floors clomped towards her, followed by the unmistakable bangs of various office doors being thrown open.

She opened one eye a crack, realizing suddenly that her position by the I-K bookcases put her directly in front of the door to the entrance hall. If she didn't either open that door or move, she was about to get run over by several military officers, one of whom she was certain would have already drawn a weapon. Getting run over was enough to spur her into action.

If these officers couldn't protect her from whoever was yelling in the hallway, she was a goner anyway.

"Sergeant, what's the matter?"

Another bitten off yell echoed down the hall to them, and she figured it answered the question for her. It was the Master Sergeant behind her, and it emboldened her enough to reach out for the doorknob. It was the kind that was normally on a large, heavy door, not round and pleasant to imitate shaking hands with, but with a thick silver handle and a large, flat stylized lever to press down with the thumb.

But what if whoever was yelling was yelling because someone was storming the building, and they'd gotten shot? What if when she opened the door someone shot at her?

"What's going on?"

"Sheska, what's –"

"Someone open the door!"

The last was barked, and it was an order. Her hand involuntarily obeyed her, grasping the latch firmly and pushing the door open with more strength than was strictly necessary.

Then she stared.

The door flew open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the warm cherry-paneled walls, the high arched white ceilings, the blazing chandelier. Ishbal-woven rugs covered the long hallway, guarded by imposing suits of armor. The door banged against the wall as it completed swinging on its hinges, but the sound didn't even make her wince.

Lying in front of the third suit of armor on the right was a young man, and he was obviously the source of the noise. Long, messy blonde hair obscured his face. He was writhing on the ground, as if trying to grind his shoulder through the floor, and his uniform was unlike any she'd seen.

His left pant leg flopped strangely emptily on the floor, tangling into his right leg as it braced it against the floor.

She felt a shove behind her and she stepped obediently to the side, into the hallway, forgotten volumes clutched to her chest. The voice wasn't familiar, but the stature, the hair, and most importantly the missing limb –

But that couldn't be.

Beside the man, apparently forgotten, was what looked like a very small liquid tank, round and about the same size as a throwing ball, with a spinning valve on the top. Other than that, the hallway was empty. The main entrance doors were pulled shut, and the bells above them were still and silent.

If he had used the doors, they would have still been swinging, even if he had entered slowly so they didn't ring.

"E-Edward?" She barely recognized the squeak as her own voice.

Denny Brosh pushed past her, no weapon in his hand, and after a second he broke into a run. He was closely followed by the colonel, and after her the Major General. The young man groaned; Sheska could see the muscles on his jaw standing out prominently before Denny knelt beside him and laid gentle hands on his shoulders.

"Easy, let's have you over –"

His left arm was curled across his chest, clinging to his hidden right, but she knew even before the master sergeant turned him onto his back that it would be missing, as well. She'd have to put a call in to Winry Rockbell right away, the other woman probably hadn't thought to have yet another set waiting for him when he returned –

Had he? Had he really?

By the time Denny had him on his back it was obvious their visitor was none other than Edward Elric. His eyes were clenched shut and his face screwed up against the obvious pain he was in, but it was still recognizably him. He looked older than she remembered, and . . . longer. His uniform was a light brown, and looked heavy, like the woolen uniforms Amestris provided for the more northern posts. The boot on his remaining foot was black, and seemed to be made of leather. His hair had once been in a braid but it had come undone long ago, and all of him, from head to toe, was covered in grime.

He was choking back another yell as he was rolled to his back, and seemed unable to remain still, his right leg scrambling on the floor as though trying to find purchase. The colonel was talking in a soothing tone of voice, but Sheska couldn't catch what she was saying. She'd crouched down directly before him, obscuring him from sight, and suddenly the Major General's face swam into Sheska's view.

"Sergeant, do you hear me?"

His previous words filtered into her brain. Call the base doctor.

She scurried back into the main office, grabbing the first phone that came into view. She knew the number; she'd memorized the base phone book as soon as she'd been assigned, and used the doctor's direct line rather than going through the receptionist. This proved to be most useful – at five to three in the afternoon he had finished with the days' surgeries and was preparing his afternoon rounds at his desk.

With the promise of immediate assistance, she returned to the hallway. They had gotten him calmed, but not much. She couldn't see him at all for the officers crowded around him, and hovered in the doorway, unsure of whether to assure the major general or to stay out of his way.

"L-lieutenant – ?"

"Edward, take a deep breath."

A choked groan. "Where . . . where am I?"

"You're safe, Fullmetal. You're in Central."

"Let me see-"

Whatever it was the colonel had been trying to see, it elicited a barely contained shout. " – there's something wrong with it-"

"A doctor's on the way. Ed, where have you been? Where's Alphonse?"

For a moment all the voices died away, and she could only hear labored breathing. She didn't realize her hands were trembling until she found she was covering her mouth with one.

What had happened to him? Why was he in so much pain? And where was his brother?

"He's – he's here . . ." Ed's voice faltered. "I left him with you-"

"When?" The voice was sharp.

Edward's breathing changed, became slower, more focused. "The airship . . . I left both of you . . ."

"Edward." The colonel's voice was very gentle. "That was over four years ago. And Alphonse, he –"

"He stowed away on the airship," the major general supplied, his tone still sharp. "He went back with you."

"Back?" Ed's voice cracked, and for once, she wasn't sure it was because of the physical pain. He said something else she couldn't catch, then, "How d-did I get here?"

Several of the officers' eyes flicked to her, and she just shook her head mutely. If he didn't use the doors, and he only had one leg and one arm, it was unlikely that he'd done anything besides – just appear.

But why? Why, after four years, would he just appear? Here in the Major General's offices, of all places? Wouldn't he have returned to the place he left, under the city? Of course, it was probably a blessing that he hadn't, considering much of that area had been concreted in to guarantee the stability of the city above.

"What do you remember?"

His breathing was starting to become shorter, more frequent. He was starting to panic again. "I- I took the Thule rocket back through the Gate –"

"Then what?"

He didn't say anything, but the Major General straightened, staring down at the still-squirming form of Edward Elric. Then he turned forty-five degrees, directly facing the suit of armor on the wall.

"Alphonse?" he questioned.

The armor didn't respond.

Of course, it wasn't Alphonse's armor. It wasn't even related, actually, considering Alphonse's original armor had been transmuted into the Philosopher's Stone and then completely used by Alphonse in his attempt to resurrect his brother. She'd been privy to the full reports, the ones that hadn't been filed with the Parliament, on that subject.

Winry had told her.

This armor, on the other hand, hadn't even been manufactured in Amestris. It was one of the ornamental suits that had been given to the Major General upon his reinstatement. It had five matching siblings guarding the hallway with it, supposedly signifying the military's solidarity in protecting its own. There was nothing special about it.

The major general waited a moment, even going so far as to stand on the balls of his feet to peer into the viewing grate. Apparently satisfied that two eerie red dots weren't looking back out, he spun another forty-five degrees. And was looking directly at her.

Sheska stiffened involuntarily. "On the way, sir," she managed in a reasonably steady voice. "I'll wait for them by the street if you –"

The colonel's worried voice interrupted her. "Ed? . . . Edward!"

"It's a fit," Denny's voice was worried but steady. "My little sister has them sometimes. It'll pass."

"Edward!" the colonel tried again, and Sheska caught a brief glimpse of Ed before the Major General blocked her view.

The Fullmetal Alchemist's eyes were closed, and he was shaking all over.

Just like her.

"What is that?"

Sheska watched as the master sergeant turned, then picked up the ball-sized tank behind him. He turned it over, looking at it from all angles before shrugging. "I don't know, sir."

"Find out." He switched his attention to her without ever actually moving. "Sergeant, get on the horn. I want every available unit deployed in the city looking for Alphonse Elric. Have the construction sites checked as well."

She just nodded, almost glad to tear her eyes away from the convulsing alchemist.

Please be okay, Edward.

- x -

**Stuttgart, 1927**

He dodged the kick easily, not following it up with an elbow strike to the guard's knee though he ached to. Proving his name was one thing; breaking the limbs of soldiers just following orders was something else entirely.

The guard planted the foot awkwardly on the ground, almost falling out of the guardhouse, and the hurricane lamp splattered some light on his name badge – Schultz, F. Unfortunately, not one of his students. He'd been sort of hoping George would be working the shift, but it couldn't be helped.

"What are you, some kind of monkey?"

Alphonse let his eyes flash, tilting his chin up arrogantly in his best impression of Roy Mustang. It seemed to impress the military back in Amestris, and things were no different here. "My name is Fritz Einheart, and my rank is sergeant. I believe that outranks a mere corporal." He tried for a derisive expression. "Remove yourself from my way immediately, Herr Schultz."

The corporal seemed to hesitate, but just for a moment. "My orders are to let no one pass, handed down from the general himself. I believe that outranks a mere sergeant."

Well, he'd tried. "Tell your superior officer-" He never broke his tone, nor the words, but simply struck the man in the middle of his chest with his outstretched hand.

"That I respectfully overrule his orders," he finished, giving the guard enough time to collapse before planting a foot in his face. "I'm sorry," he added quietly, striding past the guardhouse with its now unconscious inhabitant and vaulting the waist-high road gate. It was a little past two am, so there wasn't going to be much traffic through this little-used entrance, but sooner or later the corporal would be missed.

Damn this rain.

Al shook his head in irritation as the heavy, steady rain continued to drip down his bangs into his face. Now that he'd been living with Ed for a while, and he'd gotten back his memories, he had less of a desire to completely emulate his brother. This had resulted in his current haircut, which was still longer than most of the country's military men wore it, but could be braided to the back of his head to pass inspection. Unlike his brother, the esteemed Doctor Russell Tringham, he actually had to pass inspection.

He had to do a lot of things he wasn't particularly comfortable with, and despite his posting as a permanent physical trainer, he was being sent on more and more missions. A few had been simple observations of his best-trained teams, but three night ago –

He shivered as the icy rain drove itself beneath the heavy woolen collar of his uniform jacket, and continued loping towards the main building. He was afraid an all-out run would draw too much attention, but it wouldn't be at all odd to see a soldier jogging through this sludge. It took far too much time to cross the gravel alcove and approach the side of the huge building, and it was sheer luck that the first window he came to was unlocked.

He pushed the single-paned, inward-folding window and slipped through it, feet landing squarely on a desk covered in papers. Unfortunately, due to his difference in rank with his brother, he hadn't actually ever been to Edward's laboratory. He knew where it was, of course – Ed had drawn him a detailed diagram of the building in such a case as this.

The problem was that Al wasn't at all sure Ed was actually in his laboratory anymore. Waiting forty-eight hours after a communication had been a bad idea. Ed could be halfway across the country by now, and if he got caught breaking into this facility –

Then again, could it really house what nii-san suspected? If so, why was there a window open in the middle of November?

Suddenly suspicion, Al crouched on the desk. He didn't see or hear any alarm he might have set off, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The office was dark, and the cloud cover completely hid the moon, so the only light was leaking in under the main door. There were no shadows falling across that strip of light, no indication that anyone was out there, but he hesitated just the same.

Well, just because he wasn't a doctor didn't mean that there weren't sergeants stationed in this building. Surely he could roam the halls without being immediately set upon. Even if he revealed who he was, who would blame a younger brother for wanting to surprise his older, hard-working brother with early birthday wishes?

He shook the water off his head again, crossing the room quietly to stand beside the door, listening. All he could hear was the hum of the electric lights in the outside hallway. No voices. No footsteps.

If all went well, Ed's lab was just down this hallway, at the very end. It would probably have a guard, and therein was the only problem. Someone would notice they were no longer stationed outside the room.

Of course, if they were stationed outside the room, nii-san could have snuck out. Clearly if he could leave, he would have. Or if he wanted to leave . . .

Again Alphonse hesitated. He'd always been more worried about their being found out, but what if Ed's lack of communication had to do with the fact that he'd finally been added to the team studying the uranium bomb? What if he was no longer allowed to send written communication outside of the facility, and Mary Marguerite was no longer his secretary?

If that was the case, he'd have to know where it was. And they'd get it, together, and get out. Two am on a rainy night was better than nothing.

Carefully, Al edged open the door. He was right; no one was in the hallway, at least not the limited amount he could see. Whistling tunelessly and quietly, he marched out of the office, being sure to pull the door shut behind him, spun on his heels smartly, and marched quietly down the hall.

It was the length of the building, and he was slightly relieved to see that there were indeed two guards posted outside nii-san's door. That probably meant he was still in it, and if it didn't, then surely they'd know where he was. He freed the stationary from his inside jacket pocket, making certain it had not gotten wet in his jaunt through the rain.

Just like we planned, nii-san.

The hallway seemed to grow longer the more of it he covered, yet somehow all too soon he was spinning on his heels, facing the two soldiers. They hadn't responded to his approach, although that lab was the only thing at that end of the hallway, and both turned dark eyes on him. Dark-haired as well.

Damn. They were going to give him a hard time.

He saluted smartly, pleased when the guard on the right followed suit.

"I have an urgent communiqué for Herr Tringham," he said authoritatively.

The guard regarded him for a moment. "From whose office is your communiqué issued, sergeant?"

At least the stolen uniform fit well enough to fool soldiers in proper lighting. "From the office of General Walther, sir!"

The second one looked him over, then raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did nothing. The speaking officer just narrowed his eyes.

"When was this communiqué released to you?"

Uh-oh.

Al dropped his eyes slightly, then squared them and swallowed particularly loudly. "Yesterday afternoon, sir!"

The officer's eyes continued to narrow. "Yet you deliver it now, at a time when all decent Germans are in their beds? What is the meaning of this delay!?"

Alphonse licked his lips, trying for a subservient look. "I have no excuse, sir-"

"You think you can get away with anything, don't you, Aryan scum!" the officer spat. "Looked upon favorably just because of your hair! Which is longer than regulation length!"

Alphonse reached up automatically to tuck his bangs back into the tiny wool cap, but the officer batted his hand down. He allowed it, letting his eyes travel to the floor.

So Walther knew that nii-san had been moved out of the laboratory. Which meant that nii-san had been right.

General Walther did have Thule connections. And he had the bomb.

So was Edward's apparent absence from his lab a good sigh or a bad one?

"Doctor Tringham cannot receive messages from a soldier that has behaved so irresponsibly!" the officer continued his dressing-down. "His research is important to the furtherment of the German cause and he cannot be disturbed! You will report back to your offices immediately and personally inform the General of your failure to deliver his communiqué!"

Al nodded dumbly, then saluted smartly, without making eye contact, and spun on his heels. He was allowed to go about four steps before the second officer called out.

"Oh, Sergeant Einheart?"

He stopped in his tracks, listening. He could take the two of them out if they chose to take him into custody, and stash them in his brother's lab, but their absence would be noted much faster than the guard at the perimeter gate. And if Walther really did have the uranium bomb, and nii-san had been with it since yesterday afternoon at the latest and not managed to spirit it away –

"You should be more careful. My sister will wonder why her fiancée chose not to wear his engagement ring on duty this evening."

His heart sank, but his voice was light. "I am afraid his Lieutenant has confused me with another Fritz Einheart. I have never proposed to a lady, sir."

One of the guards snickered. "I believe that is the first truth you've spoken," he sneered. "You're under arrest, 'sergeant.' Drop your sidearm and stand ready to be detained."

Al concealed a grimace as he complied.

It looks like I'll be seeing your lab anyway, nii-san. I hope you had time to leave me a clue.

- x -

**Amestris, 1917**

It wasn't hard to find the actual site of the incursion. The problem had been finding a way down the rubble that wouldn't result in broken limbs.

Riza had to admit to herself that they wouldn't have been able to manage it as quickly as they did if not for Alex Armstrong's assistance. As transmuting rock was one of his specialties, she didn't care that they were actually descending a staircase of flexing images of Armstrong himself, his massive palms flat and parallel with the sky, forming perfect stairs. He was able to wind quite a few of them with a single strike, and while at first she'd been cautious, she'd soon thrown that to the wind.

It was obvious the enemy had fled.

A few animated suits of armor were still struggling to get up to the battle above, but she and Havoc made quick work of them before they'd had a chance to take more than a shot or two. She was trying not to be visibly shocked by the size of this city, hidden beneath Central for hundreds of years, all in a plot to transmute a Philosopher's Stone . . .

Would the Fuhrer have tried the same mistake twice, if he'd been given the chance? If he hadn't been found out by Alphonse Elric and defeated by the colonel?

Thoughts of the colonel brought her sharply back to reality, and Riza Hawkeye glared down at the roaring golden square some six hundred feet below them. Their method of a perimeter stairway was going to take them low enough, but the gate-like opening was located almost in the center of the city, so after that they'd have to take the streets. Assuming there was no enemy lying in wait, it would take about a half-hour to reach the thing, and then –

Then what? How on earth were they going to post guards on something like . . . like this? Should they destroy it, or leave it open in the hopes that Alphonse Elric might use it to return?

Was the enemy defeated, or were they merely amassing more troops? Should they send representatives through this gate?

Was that what the armored men in Lior had passed through? That had crushed them? If so, was a vehicle like the one that had come through required for safe passage? Could Alphonse use one to return?

"Breda."

Heymans had been silent throughout their journey, and he hopped surefootedly to the hand she was perched on. She didn't even glance at him.

"Our radios won't work down here. Go back to the surface and relay what we've seen to Command. When you receive orders –"

"I'll write 'em on a piece of paper and tie it to a rock," he supplied. "Be careful."

She finally looked at him, uniform jacket still unbuttoned and revealing his sweat-soaked undershirt. His mouth was frowning, but his eyes were very soft. "I'll let you know what Kain found," he added, then turned and started back up.

Hawkeye just nodded briskly. There was no time for this. She'd been kicking herself for the past two years regarding the amount of time she'd wasted crying over him when he hadn't been dead in the first place. She would waste none of that time now, not if he was injured, just waiting for medical attention –

"Havoc, you and I will continue down to sweep the buildings for any remaining enemy."

Jean just nodded, taking a puff on his cigarette before sighing. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Armstrong – damn, it's weird calling you mister."

The giant Armstrong smiled, seeming to almost sparkle despite the dim and the dust. "Alchemy is for the people, Mr. Havoc! A great man named Edward Elric reminded me of it!" He paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should make a statue to him in Lior . . ." Then he puffed up his chest, and flung his fists towards the ground.

Fifteen more repetitions occurred before they made it to the ground.

It was obvious the earthquakes had begun from this place. Water stood where it wasn't meant to be standing, and the earth was badly cracked. The roaring gate provided most of the light in the place, reflecting from what was left of the ceiling of the great cavern. Much like the city above, this city was made from shining white rock, and she could tell by the architecture it was over a hundred years old.

She'd read the reports when Edward had disappeared and Rose had brought the young, unrecognizable Alphonse Elric to Central. But to see it with her own eyes . . . she could have, years ago. But she wanted nothing to do with this place.

This place where so many had died.

Where he'd died. Died to bring back his little brother.

And Roy Mustang had never been the same.

The idea that this place had claimed Alphonse, too . . .

"Spread out," she ordered in a hushed tone. "Keep one hundred yards from the enemy gate at all times." She thought about warning them of the possibility of Ishabalites still living here, but it occurred to her exactly who she was talking to, and it seemed redundant. Armstrong headed towards the larger of the buildings, probably the town square, and Havoc agreeably cut right. That left her the path straight down the middle.

From her vantage point, she could now see the ruined stairway that she was supposed to have used, cut into the rock so it couldn't be seen from above. Armstrong's stairway of himself was nearly on top of it, actually, so they cut an elaborate ribbon through the surrounding stonework. She wondered where it eventually had spat out above the city. She was sure the reports had said, because the military would obviously be watching the pedestrian exits.

She just hadn't wanted to know. Didn't want to walk up to one accidentally one night and be tempted to enter.

This was a cursed place.

Riza shook her head quickly, scanning the empty streets as she proceeded towards the enemy's inroad. It must have been much quieter before the enemy had destroyed the ceiling of the chamber. She could still faintly hear Central above. A good portion of their city had collapsed in, and some of the streets were rendered completely impassable. She was able to walk about a mile before it became apparent that her route to the gate was effectively blocked. She was considering taking to the roofs when she caught motion.

She pulled her Browning without thought, leveling it. Whoever it was, they were too small to be a suit of armor. They were much shorter than Armstrong, and seemed to be weaving in and out of the rubble as though they were disoriented, or lost.

She kept him in her sights only a moment before she started to run. Of course. Buildings collapsed, and likely had citizen inside them. If any of the inhabitants of the blocks that had fallen were still alive – they'd have no idea where they were. Logistics of handling survivors crowded out all other thoughts, and she was almost on top of him before she realized it.

"Identi –" He stumbled more towards the center of the avenue, catching himself on a piece of what had once been a wall, and her words died in her throat.

She didn't need to see the patch of white on his hand to know who he was.

His uniform jacket was gone. Just – gone. The shirt beneath it had been partially torn away, and two of the angry red scars the Fuhrer had given him were visible. He was covered in filth, either from the explosion or whatever method he'd used to get down to the city. The hair on the back of his head was matted in a manner suspiciously like dried blood, but other than stumbling he appeared to be okay. It looked like the glove on his right had was completely intact.

He could still perform alchemy. Not that she was certain he was in a state to.

He didn't turn at the sound of her voice. He didn't react at all. He simply pushed wearily off of the rubble, one foot seeming to fall in front of the other as he headed towards the center of the city.

Towards the gate.

"Colonel." It wasn't loud enough to be heard, and she tried again as she broke into a run. "Colonel!"

He didn't turn, didn't slow. He didn't respond to her at all until she grabbed his shoulder.

"Colonel Mustang!"

His right hand whipped across his body, catching her wrist, and she found herself staring at his left hand, still at his side, the remaining part of the glove pressed between his fingers in a very familiar gesture. She'd grabbed his left shoulder, thoughtlessly, and she realized belatedly he'd have to completely turn to see her, she'd approached him on the side of his bad eye –

He swayed, and she strengthened her grip on his shoulder as he finished the turn. For a moment, she was staring at someone she hadn't seen since the Ishbal slaughter. A totally flat eye, framed with matted black hair, nothing indicating there was an actual human being staring back at her.

Then it widened almost comically.

"Hawkeye?" he called hoarsely.

"Colonel," she responded. It was the only thing she could think to say.

How had he survived? How had he beaten her down here, in his condition? What was he doing?

His visible eye was dilated badly, and seemed to twitch slightly and rapidly back and forth, a sure symptom of dizziness. Some of his hair was singed, and a thin trail of blood ran from his left temple. He swayed again, this time catching himself without her help, and very suddenly he released her wrist. His turn had brought his face within inches of hers.

Startled, she started to take a step back when he continued. "I can't hear. Anything." His voice was only a croak. "Has anything else come through that gate?" He was staring with a single-minded determination – at her lips.

Hawkeye froze, then spoke slowly and exaggerated the words. "No sir. Breda is radioing Central with the location of the gate. Havoc and the Strong Arm Alchemist are with me. What are your orders?"

It took him longer than it should have to decipher what she said. "Alex Armstrong . . . is here?"

She just nodded. She wasn't surprised he was temporarily deaf, considering the fact that he'd caught himself – successfully – with that explosion.

He was alive.

Roy Mustang was alive and standing in front of her.

"Where is he?"

Hawkeye hesitated only a second. Shouting would give her position away, but it was also the fastest way to summon them. She took a respectful step away from the colonel, then took a deep breath and bellowed, "Armstrong! Havoc! I've found the colonel!"

He stared at her a second, blinking almost owlishly. Then he smirked.

"Cover me," he grated out, and then turned and started down the street.

- x -

Author's Notes: Well, geez, I will just not get on with this story, will I. I guess it's going to be four parts. I really doubt even I can drag it on past that. It's probably worth noting at this point that Earth and Amestris are not on the same calendar year. Canonically, Ed was born in 1899 in Amestris, and the movie took place in 1917 in Amestris. (Calculated by the fact that Ed states he's eighteen in _Conqueror of Shamballa.)_ The movie also gives the subtitle "Munich, 1923." Therefore, Earth is six years ahead of Amestris. I'll explain the discrepancy in the last chapter.

You know, considering this thing has been posted only a little over twenty-four hours, can I just say that I'm astonished how many hits it's gotten? Thank you all for the faves and reviews! Or, I guess review . . . pretty, lovely review. Yes you are! Yes you are! Hmm. I'd LOVE to be able to make that plural, but admittedly I totally wrote this fic for me, just because the movie ticked me off that much. I'm glad to see you guys are getting a kick out of it!

I have no beta, so if you notice anything like typos, missing words, totally wrong things, let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

And a special thanks to Silverfox 2702 for catching a highly embarrassing typo in the last chapter. Oops! And thanks. ;)

- x -

**Amestris, 1921**

It was half past three when she found what she was looking for.

She'd been partially distracted, of course, what with the ambulance and the MPs and the investigation. Thankfully, First Lieutenant Ross had returned shortly after Edward Elric had appeared in the Major General's offices, and taken over most of the logistics of both the medical care of the Fullmetal Alchemist and the search for his brother, Alphonse Elric. Currently she was gone, likely staying with him in the hospital until the doctors were finished with him.

They'd heard no news yet, but he'd probably only actually arrived at the building less than a half an hour ago, and it was too soon to know what had happened to him.

Something terrible. Sheska didn't need a doctor to tell her that.

Thankfully, the lieutenant had called Rockbell Automail between organizing the Fifth Infantry and taking everyone's statements. Apparently Winry had actually been on a house call, as she had left a message with someone else. She'd omitted the details of his appearance, and merely said to tell Winry Rockbell that her favorite customer had once again lost his automail and could she please make another arm and leg straight away.

It was unlikely that Winry wouldn't immediately know who it was, but judging by how . . . how tall he'd looked lying there, she might not be able to guess his height correctly.

He'd grown a bit taller, though he was probably still shorter than Alphonse had been when he'd gone-

Sheska shook her head quickly, scanning over the records. Someone had bothered to put serial numbers on them, but didn't tie any information to them. It was just a way of keeping inventory, nothing more.

Sheska frowned at the book for failing her, then closed it disappointedly and tucked it back into place. Well, rats.

If there was no way to determine the found location by serial number, how else could she tell . . .

Sheska heaved a little sigh, adjusting her glasses as she glanced back into the hallway. The MPs were mostly finished, having interviewed everyone in the office and now moving on to anyone that might have been in the street and seen him approach. It was just a formality; they knew full well he'd just appeared. It wasn't common knowledge that Edward had returned four years ago, either – it was just expected, considering his name featured prominently in all the First Library texts now covering the subject of the Philosopher's Stone.

Surely someone that was suspected of transmuting the second known existing Philosopher's Stone would be able to just appear wherever he chose. Heck, she almost believed it herself.

But there might be another explanation. Not that she could prove it, though, not without some kind of record.

She briefly considered perusing the recovery troops' reports, but discarded the idea almost immediately. They would have recorded where all the armor had been recovered by street, but that was before all but a few of them were melted down for rebuilding the city, and before they would have been serialized. All that would do was confirm that armor had been there, and she already knew that.

Sheska ventured back out into the hallway, staring at the spot on the floor she'd first seen him. To have been through all of this, and to have left his brother behind . . . but he was Edward Elric! He'd find a way to get back to Alphonse. Just as Al had found a way to get to him.

Emboldened by that thought, she stared the suit of armor down. At first, the fact that they'd been there had seriously creeped her out, to the point that she refused to come in the main doors unless someone accompanied her. She was pretty sure her admittedly irrational fear had amused the Major General, but every once in a while she caught him eyeing them as he entered himself, and she could never be sure whether it was to remind himself of that day, or because he had the same suspicions that one day they were going to just start walking again.

After all, they'd been given to him as a symbol of what he'd done for Central that day, and while it was far from the barbaric days that it would have been the enemies' heads on pikes, she really wasn't sure how she'd take that herself. Some of the military's traditions were downright odd.

The rugs bore no stain or evidence of Edward's appearance. There were no burn marks, no blood. He'd simply appeared.

What had happened to him? Where was his automail? Obviously the ports on his arms and legs were causing him agony, but . . . she sighed, staring up at the imposing suit of armor.

She'd been there when Winry had scoffed at the mechanical contraptions he'd outfitted himself with. She'd set down that case, all business, and immediately begun work getting worthy limbs attached to him. And Sheska had read all the reports regarding military-issue automail and its weapon enhancements. And even given some of that information to Winry herself. She knew that grown men, even hardened soldiers, screamed from the pain as their nerves were exposed and attached to cold iron to control the complex mechanisms of the automail.

Aside from three or four shouts, Ed hadn't really done much besides sweat and grimace as she'd attached them. And Winry had been moving delicately but quickly, knowing she didn't have much time. It had to have hurt like the dickens. And when he'd gone to deal with the Thules, and they'd began their long trek back up to the city, Winry had told her the story of when he'd first gotten the automail. How he'd always been that way.

Good at handling the pain. She supposed after getting your arm and leg . . . decomposed . . . some things were easier to bear than others.

So when a technician was binding those nerves to cold iron, possibly the most painful thing you could legally do to another human being, he could crack jokes. What sort of pain could they be causing him that would make _him_, of all people, respond that way?

How bad must it have been?

She found she had wrapped her arms around her chest, and she stared up at that armor.

This is your fault, she thought at it in irritation. If you hadn't come through the gate, both of them would never have left again.

The armor didn't respond.

She sighed, then turned to look at its counterpart across the hall. All of these suits were consecutive serial numbers, but that didn't mean they'd all been recovered from the same area. They'd been issued six because there had been six variants on the armor, and likely the specialty of the soldier inside.

None of them resembled Alphonse's old armor.

Since he had never had a need to take the State Alchemist exam, no longer needing access to the First Library, Al's special form of transmutations wasn't on the official National Alchemist records. She knew him well enough, though, having stayed in touch with Winry Rockbell. Normally an alchemist had to draw a transmutation circle on something in order to control or manipulate it. The Strong Arm Alchemist, for instance, had circles on his spiked metal protective gloves.

But he didn't need to have a transmutation circle on the actual piece of stone that he molded into himself. Then again, he didn't make them walk around very often, and it was widely accepted that Alphonse Elric had been transmuting a piece of his soul into inanimate objects in order to control them for brief periods of time. He'd theorized to Winry that because his body had spent so long separated from his soul, he could detach it fairly easily. He also theorized it wasn't permanent because the object he had transmuted his soul into eventually rejected it.

He figured the way around this rejection was the blood seal Edward had put on that suit of armor when they were boys, but it would have eventually happened anyway. It was a comfort to him, that his forgotten self had done the right thing by allowing himself to be transmuted into the Philosopher's Stone, as the suit of armor would eventually have rejected his soul and he would have vanished.

But did that mean that Alphonse would have drawn a blood seal on the suits of armor he was controlling the day the Thules invaded?

Obviously not, since they didn't retain any pieces of his soul. Or maybe he could somehow call it back to his body?

Sheska shivered, thinking about her soul leaving her body. Possibly scarier than the thought of aliens was the idea she could just detach . . . herself. From herself.

Or, even scarier still, that someone else could do it _to_ her.

She frowned up at the suit of armor, then ducked around behind it, studying the metal for any signs of a transmutation circle. His had traditionally been on the neck of the armor just beneath the helmet, but the armor stood over six feet, and it wasn't like she could look without knocking it over –

Not that it mattered, since the armor was empty. The dead soldiers had been removed long ago.

Still, she hesitated before poking it experimentally.

The armor didn't respond, other than to rock back and forth slightly on its stand.

Emboldened, she gave it another sharp poke. Roughly the same thing happened. It was pretty light, then, all things considering –

"What are you doing?"

Sheska didn't bother to close her eyes and count to three. She just screamed.

A cool hand covered her shoulder, from behind, and she jumped about five feet into the air before whirling around. She moved too quickly on the hallway runner and tripped, falling backwards into the suit of armor. It in turn fell back against the wall with a terrific clang, wrapping its cold metal arms around her neck.

That was all Sheska could take. She began to dance in place, alternately trying to scoot out from beneath the cold iron arms that were strangling her and dodging the ghost of the soldier that used to inhabit the armor, and it was an eternity before the voice pierced through her panic attack.

"Sheska!"

She found that suddenly she couldn't feel the cold metal choking her anymore, and she dared to stop moving. When nothing horrible happened, she opened her eyes a crack.

One dark, almond-shaped eye was staring at her.

"M-major General, sir?"

His expression was always a little hard to gauge, even before the eyepatch. She'd done a terrible job judging him just after Maes Hughes' death, after all. Currently, though, it seemed a weird combination of surprise, irritation, and wonder.

Sheska looked down, seeing that the hallway was now littered with what used to be the intact suit of armor she'd been studying. Only the boots and calfguards were still mounted to the stand. She'd managed to fling one of the arms almost to the lobby doors, and the Major General himself had the helmet hanging from his shoulderpad.

"I think you got him, sergeant," the major general observed dryly.

Sheska blushed, then hung her head. "I-I'll work harder with Lieutenant Ross, sir."

She heard fabric shift, and Major General Roy Mustang removed the helmet from the ornamental buttons it had caught on with a soft metallic ringing sound. He didn't discard it, which made her look up. To her surprise, he had upended it and was studying the interior.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he explained, in a slightly softer voice. "I thought maybe . . ." He trailed off, apparently not finding anything in the helmet, and glanced around the hall with a sigh.

"That Alphonse Elric had transmuted one of these suits of armor during the incursion, sir?" she supplied.

The major general glanced back at her, though the surprised look was gone. It was replaced with something a little more calculating. ". . . yes. Sergeant, can you-"

"I already looked," she interrupted apologetically. "The serial numbers don't coincide with the recovery zones, and without any other recorded differentiating marks on the armor, it's impossible to determine where they came from."

The major general just nodded, tossing the helmet onto what had been the breastplate with a terrific clatter. Sheska was not surprised to see that the noise had drawn Denny and the colonel out into the hallway again.

"I'm sorry about the mess, sir," she tried bravely. "I'll get it cleaned up right away."

The major general nodded again, surveying the hallway once more before turning on his heels. He headed back towards the officers, stepping over the backplate as he did so, and she suppressed another sigh, staring meekly across the hallway at the intact suit of armor across from her.

Almost intact. Her freak-out session had knocked some part of armor into it, and it had been dislodged a bit from its own stand. Luckily, it hadn't toppled, and was just leaning crazily against the wall. She'd probably scratched the wooden wall paneling, too, she'd need to get out some staining oil to cover them up –

The wall paneling was indeed cherry, which was a red wood, but even if she'd splintered off a piece, it wouldn't be as red as that streak laying across the seam of the breastplate and the waist of that armor. Even as she stared at it, it seemed to be getting longer.

For some reason, it didn't make her want to scream. She didn't say anything at all, because if she was wrong again and she disturbed the major general _again_ he was probably going to make her stay late and wash every window in the place, and they were already going to pull a late night as it was.

Besides, there was no reason Alphonse Elric should be bleeding, considering if he really was in the armor he was _in_ the armor. The worst she should have done to him was make his ears ring.

Hadn't the major general looked into that armor anyway?

Then again, when he'd left, Al hadn't been even six feet. If he was actually in the armor, rather than a soul controlling it, his head probably didn't come up past the neck anyway.

She walked across the hall very calmly, accidentally kicking an elbow joint out of her way as she crossed the few feet. With remarkably steady hands, she reached out and plucked off the armor's helmet.

It came off easily, considering these were ornamental pieces and outside of their feet and legs being braced on the stands, the rest of the armor held itself up without help. A little disappointingly, she didn't see any blonde hair poking out of the top of the neck.

Of course, she was short herself. Maybe she couldn't see over it enough. Or, if it really was Alphonse Elric in there, and he was bleeding, maybe he was hurt, or even unconscious. If he was slouching, he'd still be invisible.

No. That was ridiculous. The blood was probably hers, from flinging all that sharp armor. Or, oh no, not the major general's -

"Sheska?"

It was the colonel's voice, but for the moment she ignored it. Instead, she gripped the neck of the huge suit of armor, and felt around inside for the leather buckles that held the breastplate to the shoulders. Each one was just snapped into place, and as she released the breastplate it swung down like a hinge, revealing the interior of the armor.

She would have screamed if she'd been prepared. Instead, she had to perform the prerequisite, which was to gasp.

There was a dead soldier inside the armor.

And he was wearing the same uniform that Edward Elric had been wearing.

And he had blonde hair, much shorter, but in a French braid down the back of his head. She could see the back of his head, because as soon as the breastplate had been removed, the slumped figure had lolled forward. When that happened, she'd felt something drip onto her boots.

Horrified, she gently pushed the head back upright, away from her. A ringing clang to her left alerted her to incoming officers, and she flinched back as the head flopped backwards against the backplate.

It was Alphonse Elric.

And he was dead.

He had to be dead.

Because there was a hole in his throat.

His body began to slump forward again, but this time the major general's hands caught the man. He was a man, now – he was older than she remembered him, just like Edward had been. He even had stubble on his chin, visible through the coating of deep red blood that had flooded from his mouth when she'd shifted him.

An odd wheeze came from the body, and that terrible, terrible hole in his throat bubbled slightly. The major general bodily wrenched the armor off the stand, taking care to tilt it back so he didn't shift the body more than he had to. The colonel appeared in Sheska's vision almost magically, assisting him, and as more light poured into the armor she could see that most of the liquid around the bottom of that horrible wound was frothed, a solid ring of congealing bubbles.

And as they finished lowering the armor, again, the softest whistle, and the semi-solid froth ring bubbled.

Surely that was just air shifting from his lungs as they moved his weight. Surely he wasn't – wasn't breathing.

How could he breathe like that?

The major general had torn off most of the front of the armor before she even realized it, tossing it aside with a terrific noise she barely registered. Al was covered in blood, not just from his throat. He'd also been shot in the chest, or really more of the shoulder, it was hard to tell with how darkly the uniform was stained. His face was chalk-white, jaw clenched but lips slack, and aside from that tiny bubbling sigh, he didn't move at all, even when the colonel pressed her fingers deeply into the intact side of his neck.

"He's still alive." The colonel's voice was choked.

This time she didn't need to be told. Sheska turned and ran for the phone.

He'd been there.

He'd been there the whole time. He'd probably appeared the same time that Edward did.

He'd been trapped in that armor, dying, this entire time, when the room had been full of doctors and soldiers and people that loved him –

The doctor was not at his direct line, probably still with Al's brother, and she hung up after only two rings, dialing the nurse's direct line. The woman was impossibly stupid; it took three requests of immediate help and a description of the injuries before she understood how critical time was. Sheska couldn't get back to the hallway fast enough.

He could have died, just in the time she'd made that phone call. Waiting all this time for them to find him, and being right in front of their eyes –

He must have transmuted that suit of armor during the battle, her mind offered, trying to kick itself out of the stunned sludge it had become. That was why he'd appeared in this office, instead of in the underground city.

She'd been right.

They'd come back together, and Al had been drawn to a place his soul had previously resided.

But . . . if they'd come back together, why did Edward think that Al had been with them? Why didn't he remember what had happened?

Denny and the major general had freed Alphonse entirely from the armor by the time she re-entered the hallway. His uniform was exactly like that of Edward, and it was obvious he too had grown taller. He was wearing a holster, though there was no gun in it, and his right hand was gloved in his blood. Someone had gotten the first aid kit out of the hall closet, and the major general was pressing a large sheet of gauze to the wound in Alphonse's chest.

When he spoke, his voice was grim. "Denny, get the other first aid kit. Riza, taped to the back panel of the top drawer of my desk is a small envelope."

Both the officers responded immediately, and Sheska flattened herself to the wall as they rushed past her.

"Alphonse Elric." The major general didn't even seem to be registering her presence. "You didn't come all this way to die. Your brother won't forgive you."

Silence, and the quietest wheeze. They'd had no chance of hearing it, with all the noise and the bustle and the MPs and doctors . . . she hadn't even heard him when the hall was empty.

"I won't forgive you."

- x -

**Amestris, 1917**

Riza Hawkeye watched them size up the gate.

Neither one looked particularly pleased.

"This is very strange indeed," Armstrong intoned, crouched in front of the north side. For the first time since she'd known him, he had drawn a transmutation circle on the ground in front of the gate, and it had glowed briefly but otherwise done nothing.

"I do not believe that we can safely transmute this into anything else," he continued thoughtfully.

The colonel was leaning heavily on a piece of retaining wall, and his visible eye was glazing fast. As soon as they'd stopped he'd seemed to be fighting a constant battle with sleepiness, and while she had caught him napping at his desk occasionally in the office, his inability to remain focused worried her a great deal.

Maybe he wasn't as well off as he looked. He could have suffered internal damages and not even realized it himself, yet. He was probably still in shock, and as Armstrong wasn't facing him, and he hadn't responded, obviously his hearing had not yet returned.

"Mr. Havoc."

Jean was keeping an eye on the southern-facing edge, just in case the enemy had placed units in the area to ensure their ability to return. His head popped around the retaining wall, and he didn't even flinch as the giant man gently withdrew the cigarette from his mouth.

"Might I borrow all of your cigarettes?"

Jean's eyebrows crawled for his hairline, but he obediently fished the battered pack out of his front left uniform pocket and handed them over, along with the box of matches. Armstrong bowed his head in thanks, and then approached the colonel.

"COLONEL MUSTANG!"

Roy's good eye shot wide open.

This was a good sign. Of course, that bellow could also probably bring the remainder of the chamber ceiling down on their heads.

"DO YOU STILL INTEND TO CLOSE THIS GATE?"

The colonel almost staggered under the force of the yell. "Yes," he rasped. His lack of voice was making her worried that he might have struck his throat, or maybe inhaled some super-heated air and burned himself. "I promised . . . the Elric brothers . . ."

Havoc's jaw dropped, and Riza fought not to do the same.

Brothers . . .? As in, more than one?

Armstrong nodded, and a large tear collected on his eyelashes before tumbling down his cheek. "I ALWAYS KNEW EDWARD WOULD FIND A WAY BACK!" Emotion lent him volume, and somewhere in the city, a large structure cracked warningly.

_She_ was going to be deaf before this conversation was over.

The colonel just nodded, tiredly, and eventually heaved himself off the retaining wall, ignoring Havoc's offered arm. He accepted the cigarettes from Armstrong, who was now weeping openly, and stared at the gate. He still swayed slightly on his feet, and Havoc caught her eye.

His expression easily conveyed what he was thinking. Are we really going to let the colonel do this in his condition?

She nodded her chin at the colonel, and Havoc touched his shoulder. When he had Mustang's attention, he nodded back towards Hawkeye.

"But what about the Elric brothers?" she mouthed. Maybe Armstrong would get the hint.

The colonel took a deep breath, then he shook his head. "They'll find another way."

"SURELY IT IS SO! THEY ARE TOGETHER AGAIN, AND THEY CAN DO ANYTHING THEY PUT THEIR MINDS TO!" Armstrong broke it off in a sob.

The colonel winced, but Riza wasn't sure it was from the volume. "Havoc, Hawkeye, return to the surface."

Havoc opened his mouth to reply –

Damn that noisy Armstrong. She hadn't heard them coming.

Riza drew her Browning and fired in one smooth motion, not bothering to warn Havoc. He'd have ducked per his training, but she was afraid she would have had to wait for him to get out of the way to ensure he didn't flinch into her bullet, and she didn't think they had the time for it.

It was a direct hit, but considering the armor had been about three feet behind Havoc, Winry Rockbell probably could have hit it.

He didn't flinch. In fact, he was already bringing up his weapon, and she froze until she realized he was sighting far enough away that she didn't have to worry. Armstrong had ducked reflexively, fists clenched, and Colonel Mustang hadn't yet responded at all.

Shit. They had placed a few soldiers around the entry point. And they couldn't have announced their position more loudly if they'd tried.

Well, there wasn't much point in being quiet now. Hawkeye checked to ensure her next clip was loaded and within easy reach, and then caught Havoc's eye. He'd apparently taken care of the one approaching from the east, and he jumped up on the retaining wall to get a quick look around.

Then he yelped and dove behind it as at least four gunshots echoed through the city. Three of them hit the wall, the other went wide.

"GO, COLONEL!" she shouted. He seemed to be well aware they were under fire, and when he moved, it was without hurry. He merely extracted the cigarettes from the pack, and looked at Armstrong.

"Take them and get out of here," he ground out.

Armstrong shook his head, once. The tears were gone, replaced with his combat face. "WE SHOULD USE THE ARMSTRONG FAMILY FLYING ROCK TECHNIQUE, AIDED WITH THE INGREDIENTS OF THE CIGARETTES!"

Another suit of armor appeared, again behind Havoc, almost in the exact same place. She took it down immediately, and he seemed to get the hint, breaking across the wreckage of what seemed to be an old meeting building of some kind. Three shots followed him, and based on them, she calculated the location of the shoots.

Hawkeye took a breath, then popped over her own cover, shooting two of the three enemy before ducking back. A bullet ricocheted off her cover, and she sprang up again immediately, taking down the third.

She'd seen at least two more. Where the hell had they been all this time? Then again, they could have been spread all over the city, considering their group was now standing practically in the middle of it.

"GO!" This time, it was the colonel that was shouting, and she knew the tone of his voice well. "THAT'S AN ORDER!"

"Dying here will not change anything," Armstrong informed him, and despite the quieter voice, it seemed as though the colonel heard him. Mustang froze, his clenched jaw the only outward sign of his frustration.

"It'll be . . . too sloppy," he finally growled out. "I can't control it like this." When no one responded, he made a sudden gesture with his right arm, slicing at the air. "It's not safe!"

"YOU ARE THE FLAME ALCHEMIST!" Alex roared. "YOU MADE A PROMISE TO YOUR COUNTRY AND TO THE ELRIC BROTHERS, AND WE WILL SEE IT THROUGH WITH YOU!"

Another bullet ricocheted off her cover, far too close for comfort, and Hawkeye flinched as some of the rock bit into her cheek. Well, at least she knew where it was holed up –

"We'll cover you!" Havoc shouted, from across what had once been a massive lobby. "Go, Colonel!"

Despite the speed at which their position was being overrun, as it always did, time slowed down significantly during combat. She had time to consider every move she made even as she made it, time to witness Havoc paying for his words, blood spraying into the air from his sliced arm. He didn't go down, though, and as she turned to cover her own back she saw Roy Mustang toss the cigarettes onto the ground.

It was him. As though the last two years had never been. The squared shoulders, the slight downward angle of his chin. He stood facing the gate calmly, waiting almost impatiently as the Strong Arm Alchemist roared, plunging his fists into the ground. On the spot each of Havoc's cigarettes had been, a rocky spike came flying out of the ground, heading straight into the air before slowing, then hovering as if suspended by magic –

Then falling back to the ground.

Towards the Gate.

Just as they were about to be swallowed by the brilliant yellow light, Colonel Mustang whipped his right hand in front of his face, and snapped his fingers.

Faster than she could blink, faster than she could even gasp, the ground beneath her feet shuddered violently, and Riza Hawkeye was consumed in darkness.

For a split second, she thought she was dead.

But the shaking was continuing, and there was an odd sound she recognized as –

As Alex Armstrong.

Singing.

With every beat, there was a pounding sound, followed closely by more rumbles and percussive cracks. What at first had seemed darkness was just a significant lowering in the amount of light. It wasn't just that the gate was gone. There was a huge rock wall, only a few feet from her, that curved almost entirely over her head. The sharp noises she was hearing were cracks, yet another slab of rock was rising out of the ground rhythmically to replace the one that was cracking.

Whatever Armstrong was singing, it was in a foreign language, and she was sure the words didn't matter. What mattered was that he was keeping time, making sure a new protective wall came up as the previous ones were broken.

Havoc was a few yards away, looking stunned and clutching his arm, but he'd be fine. It hadn't been a direct shot, so the bone probably wasn't broken. But where was the Colonel? He'd been closer to the gate than any of them –

A particularly powerful explosion rocked the buried city, and part of the top of Armstrong's wall caved towards them. She was bringing up her arm to fire at the falling rubble when there was a flash of light. Small, hot pebbles rained down on them, and in the brief glow of the ignition line, she had made his position.

Roy Mustang was almost directly behind her, flat on his back. His right hand was lying across his chest comfortably, as though he was lounging on a beach somewhere.

He caught her gaze, and held it a moment.

Then he closed his eye.

The last rumbles settled out, and Alex paused before his next strike. When nothing else happened, he touched his fist to the wall in front of him, shaking his head to sling the sweat from his eyes. The wall crumbled, and as she coughed from the dust, she saw –

Rubble. Rocks and rubble.

No shaking.

No light.

No enemy gate.

No enemies at all.

For a moment, they all froze, and waited. The sound of settling wreckage reached them, and a few horrified screams from above.

Nothing else. No gunshots. No squeaks of metal.

Havoc began to chuckle quietly, then choked on the dust, and ended with a small whimper.

Hawkeye glanced up at the Strong Arm Alchemist, who was wiping his brow. He looked fine. No blood. No wounds. Then she rolled her crouch to her other hip, looking back at the colonel.

His face was relaxed. His hand was relaxed. He wasn't moving.

No.

"Colonel."

He didn't respond.

"Colonel!"

Her ears were ringing, so he was probably just deafened again. Right?

He didn't respond.

She dropped her Browning, reaching across the few feet that separated them and grabbing his shoulder.

"Roy!"

The action pulled his limp frame towards her, and his head lolled, his face turning away. But as it did, she heard the unmistakable sound of a small snore.

And then, inexplicably, Riza Hawkeye began to cry.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: You know, I'm going to stop guessing how many parts this is going to take me. You'd have thought my Trigun fic Fulgor would have taught me that, but no. Apparently I can't tell a succinct story for the life of me. It'll end when it ends. It's a one-shot. I promise. ; )

And thank you again, Silverfox! I don't have a beta for this thing (because it was supposed to be short), and on my readthrough I noticed blood concealing instead of congealing, so I know there are still typos in there somewhere, alive and well. I apologize in advance!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

**Amestris, 1921**

"With all due respect, ma'am!"

She smiled; it really wasn't a pleasant one, and she was very proud of it.

"Why thank you!" If all due respect was being given, after all, then the opinion of a first-year was going to be thrown out the window to her fifteen years of automail experience.

And that wasn't counting any of the years she played with gears before she could talk.

She breezed past the young man, her smile turning into a more sincere beam than anything else. He was in the hospital, which certainly wasn't good, but there wasn't much else for him to do if he literally had no mechanical limbs at all. And she had no doubt if the automail had been absent for an extended time and Edward hadn't been paying attention to the ports he could have gotten them gummed up indeed. Possibly even actually slightly damaged.

Of course, damage to the ports would have caused him pain, so it was pretty unlikely. She was sure this first-year simply didn't know the difference between grime and 'the ports need to be completely replaced.'

And considering how infrequently Edward had oiled and cleaned the joints of his original automail . . . it was probably just dirt.

Depending on how injured he'd gotten himself getting rid of those automail limbs, she might go easy on him. She couldn't hear him yelling, for example, so either he was fine, or he was asleep. And hitting him with a wrench when he was asleep just wasn't very nice.

"Miss, these aren't visitor's hours-"

"I'm his mechanic, not his visitor," she retorted over her shoulder, not even slowing down.

"You don't understand, miss-"

"Is he in surgery?"

She could hear footsteps trying to catch up to her, and Winry Rockbell quietly took hold of the 3/8 quarter wrench in her side pocket. So help him if he tried to stop her –

"- well, no-"

"Is he naked?" That might actually be a compelling reason not to go inside, at least until someone threw a blanket on him. Then again, Edward had never really been concerned about that kind of thing, despite the fact that one of the ports came awfully close to his family jewels. As a little boy she supposed he was in far too much pain to care, but he hadn't so much as blushed when she'd attached the new leg four years ago, despite the close quarters and the audience. And if he was ever going to get shy around her it sure as hell would have happened then.

There was a slightly choked sound behind her. "I don't think so-"

"Then I should only be here long enough to diagnose the damage to his ports and take measurements for the new limbs," she replied airily. "I'm certain ten minutes won't make or break anyone's schedule."

Sure enough, a hand closed around her elbow. "I'm afraid you're not listening-"

She whirled on him, but he released her instantly, hands raised and palm-out. "Please, miss, just hear me out."

She considered hitting him with the wrench.

He considered her pause to be an invitation, because he plowed right ahead. "I'm not sure you'll want to see . . . him, without being fully prepared."

She just raised an eyebrow. Five seconds from getting a beat-down, buddy, she mentally warned him.

The good thing about mental warnings was that no one ever took them.

He lowered his defensive position – bad move – and frowned at her. "I've never seen anything like it."

She sighed, and relented. "Anything like what?" Like dirt on a port?" Maybe he was trying to warn her of something unrelated to the automail . . . "He isn't . . . dying, is he?" Oh, god, what if the automail had nothing to do with his reluctance to let her visit Edward? What if he'd been horribly burned, or torn up, or –

Well, of course he'd be torn up. She didn't expect him to have given up her automail without a fight.

The doctor shook his head quickly. "No, no, nothing like that. But . . . and I know I'm not a mechanic, at least not in the automail sense, but my brother-in-law is. I've seen the equipment he keeps in his shop. And I am a mechanic of the human body. We've all been trained in the basics of automail attachments so we can work on patients wearing the equipment."

He stepped forward, and she was surprised when she let him. He lowered his voice, and his eyes were very serious. "When I told you over the phone that the ports needed to be replaced, I meant it."

Winry stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she turned and started back towards Edward's room.

He didn't try to stop her again.

She knew which room was his, because, oddly, the rest of the ward was empty. Maybe it was just a quiet military hospital, but then again, maybe it was because he was the Full Metal Alchemist.

After all, they had no idea what had happened to the Philosopher's Stone. And from Maria Ross' message, they had no idea why he'd come back at all.

She'd certainly never expected to see him again –

Winry shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake off the bitterness that had enveloped her on the train. She had been staring out the window, watching the scenery go by, and could only imagine everyone else had felt the same way she did. The automail she'd made for him, she'd hoped it wouldn't be the last, but she'd been okay with that.

With the way he'd left things.

She was _not_ okay with him reappearing and disappearing and reappearing again. If she knew he was permanently gone, she could move on. But if he was going to drop by at his convenience and turn their lives upside-down –

But he hadn't. Not if the doctor was serious about his warning.

She was used to being treated with kid gloves for being a woman. Okay, a pretty girl. When she wasn't in her overalls she looked like any other air-brained blonde. And he might have been overprotective.

She'd beat him senseless if he'd made her worry over nothing.

She pushed open the door without preamble, surprised to see the lamp by the bedside had been left on, and the room had a lovely, soft yellow glow.

Was he awake? "Edward . . .?" she called softly, on the off chance he'd just fallen asleep with the lights on.

She stepped fully into the doorway, not waiting for a reply, and down the little corridor past the bathroom door before coming into the room itself.

Ed was asleep. He also wasn't naked, or at least, she couldn't see anything beneath the middle of his chest. Which was bare. So were his arms, and the remainder of his right one was wrapped in bright white gauze.

Winry narrowed her eyes. There'd be no need to wrap a port unless it was bleeding, which was – well, almost impossible. Or infected, which was nearly as unlikely. It would have had to have been punctured or cracked, or bent so badly that the skin around the outer perimeter of the port managed to become inflamed.

Winry came in quietly, laying her small traveling bag on the reclining chair beside the bed and unbuckling it. From it, she withdrew her tape measure, her millimeter ruler, her tweaking toolset, and her utility lamp. She arranged all of them in order on the edge of the bed.

He didn't move.

Of course, Ed could sleep through anything. But something gnawed at her, and she stared up at the small bag hanging on a metal bar. A thin, clear line came out of the bottom of it, running into a needle in his arm. It was filled with a bright yellow liquid, and she'd never seen one that color before.

What were they giving him?

Normally a bag that small held painkillers, but considering her line of work, she knew most of the drugs used to quiet pain. This one didn't look familiar at all.

Winry bent across the bed, unhesitatingly finding the end of the gauze and unwrapping it. When she had it freed, she just stared.

It wasn't bent.

It wasn't cracked.

It wasn't punctured.

In fact, the port looked just fine. Unmarred silver metal met her gaze, and all the channels appeared round and even.

Except a little dark . . . she stared harder, then moved in for a closer look, bracing her knees against the mattress. Of course, the lamp was on the other side of him, so the shadows were impeding her view. Without even glancing, she picked up her travel torch and clicked it on.

Blinding white light erupted out of the end, effectively banishing every possible shadow on the port. It wasn't her imagination – roughly half the channels, mostly the central ones, looked dark. Dark was usually an indication that a nerve ending had been pulled too far, but if that was the case . . .

It meant most of them had been pulled too far. And it was physically impossible for the automail limb to pull a nerve through the channels.

Which meant it had to be . . . something else. Maybe he'd oiled the channels . . . ? Surely he wasn't that stupid. But it had to be a liquid residue, because if that was actually something solid, in that many of the channels -

Winry blinked, then went back to the bag for her magnifying goggles. She'd tossed them into the bag on the off chance Ed had gotten a grain of sand or a particle of dust lodged into the one of the channels. Even one would have been enough to drive a grown man crazy. And while it was plenty hard to wedge them in there, Ed was special. She didn't know how long the limbs had been missing, and the aforementioned lack of properly caring for them . . .

Fully goggled, Winry abandoned professional distance and scootched chest-first onto the bed, getting in up-close and personal. The most painful part of installing automail was carefully sliding the empty channel tubes on the limb itself into the channels on the port, providing a secure, moisture-controlled, and most importantly, sterile environment for the nerves to function within the mechanism.

If he'd contaminated that many of them, or worse, all those nerves had somehow been pulled too far through the channels, they'd have to remove the port. There'd be no doubt about it, the channels were too narrow to properly clean in this number, and she couldn't just stuff nerves back into the stump of the limb. Of course, if it really was the nerves were exposed to air like that, they'd also be on their way to dead, which would mean pruning back the stump of his arm to get back to healthy nerves, which mean changing the limb entirely –

Between the goggles and the light, it was almost as good as in her workshop. She was used to having to inspect ports at odd angles, and the fact that he was flat on a fairly narrow bed made it much more comfortable to get the look she needed.

The goggles magnified things to the point that each channel took up nearly all of her circle of vision. She had settled right on one, and she quietly inspected the gouge marks around the channel, and the splayed, dark nerve. The ends were shriveling, but not completely dead, which meant exposure to air was less than twenty-four hours. The gouge marks had been produced . . . by something cylindrical, but significantly wider-bore than the channel itself.

So . . . this wasn't caused . . . by the channel tubes in the automail . . .

She moved across the port, to her right, systematically. More than half were still intact, and as it had looked, most of the damage was restricted to the central portions of the port. Each damaged channel showed the tender, exposed nerve. Most of them had been shredded. A nerve looked much like a branching, flexible strand of hair. These had been split two, sometimes three times, where they didn't terminate in a ragged end.

They'd been teased out of the channels, but not even with the same tool. Some of the gouge marks were deeper, others lighter, as though someone was . . .

Was practicing. And getting better as they worked.

But then some of the gouges were on the other side, indicating a left-handed approach rather than a right-handed one.

So more than one person had done this to him. Probably with a needle or a pin of some kind.

And there was no doubt, someone had done this to him. This wasn't accidental damage. And this wasn't the kind of damage he could have done to himself.

Someone had sat in her position, with a narrow cylinder of metal, and they had teased out each and every one of the exposed nerves.

And just one of them, improperly housed in a channel, caused enough constant pain to make things such as sleeping and having a pleasant conversation extremely difficult. Ten and the agony was so unbearable that those unable to get to mechanics would often cut off the port, or even kill themselves.

There were over a hundred damaged channels on the port.

Winry didn't even take off the goggles, pulling away and using her knees to feel her way around the bed. Automatically, she lifted the blanket on his left side, exposing the port, and she expertly tucked the blanket into the crevice between what was left of his thigh and everything else. Then she pushed the bundle slightly aside, and leaned in close.

The first few ports she found looked fine, and she was starting to relax when a torn nerve came into view. Almost a full millimeter of it was exposed.

For some reason, whoever . . . they . . . had been focused again on the center channels, and she was able to find ten in the first thirty seconds of inspecting. None as bad as that one, but . . .

Winry leaned back, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off the goggles wearily. It was as though the day of traveling had finally caught up with her, and she sagged heavily, dropping her elbows onto her knees.

She didn't look at him.

No wonder she didn't recognize the painkillers in that bag.

And they probably weren't doing him nearly enough good.

It would have taken . . . hours. Hours and hours to do that. Maybe even an entire day. It had happened relatively recently, obviously, but . . .

Who would do something like that? After treating just two nerves like that, whoever was suffering the kind of constant, piercing, bone-deep pain that pulling those nerves would cause would be worthless. They wouldn't be able to walk, wouldn't be able to talk. All they'd be able to do was scream.

Two.

Not two hundred.

He must have passed out. There was no way a human being could have tolerated that kind of pain. It would have put his system into shock. Seizures, vomiting, evacuation of the bladder and bowels, profuse sweating, temporary blindness and deafness as the brain tried to block out all the signals it was receiving.

He wouldn't have been able to function. Not to answer any questions, not to move, not to do anything at all.

What had been the point?

Why would someone do that?

Who could?

She slouched there, on the side of his bed, for a long time. There was no way to make him more comfortable than unconscious; no one had sprayed down the ports with a numbing agent, which she couldn't quite figure out, unless he'd been unconscious the entire time?

That much pain could literally kill a person.

She didn't know how long she sat there, not looking at him, before she heard the door quietly open. From the gentle way they entered, and their silence, she could only assume it was the first-year she'd run into on the way in. He didn't say anything, though; she felt the mattress sag as he sat on the opposite side.

Winry licked her bottom lip. "Who did this to him?"

The answer was slow in coming. "I don't know."

It was a military hospital. Even if he honestly didn't know, she knew exactly where to go to find out.

"Was he awake when he came here?"

"No." The doctor sounded as tired as she felt. "He was seizing."

That wasn't at all surprising. So the drug was probably also a paralytic.

Or maybe only –

"Why weren't these ports numbed?"

"The officer that accompanied him indicated his mechanic would want the ports as clean as possible to make a diagnosis," he replied. She heard the swishing of liquid, and turned to watch him over her shoulder.

He was holding a spraybottle out to her. "I assume you've finished, then."

She accepted it immediately and went to work, washing down the port and using the gauze to catch the drippings. Once she'd thoroughly saturated his leg, she moved to go around the physician when he gently took the bottle.

"I'll get it."

She let him, watching him carefully but determining he knew what he was doing. He even held the bottle at the right angle to ensure the best possible contact of droplets with the interior of the channels rather than the surface hood. It didn't do Ed any good if it didn't get to the nerves.

Which were, of course, flapping around in the breeze –

For the first time since she'd seen what happened to him, Winry thought she might be sick.

"I want to be here tomorrow. For the surgery."

He was padding the port, keeping the numbing agent from dripping on the bed, and he looked up at her, a little startled. "Begging your pardon –"

"We can't prune the stumps back very far," she interrupted him. "If we do, we're going to limit his range of motion too much –"

"Miss, the damage to his nerves is quite severe. If we don't go back far enough, he won't be able to use the automail at all."

She just looked resolutely at him. "I can tell you exactly how far."

He regarded her for several moments. "I'm a doctor, not a visitor," he chided, tossing her earlier words right back. "I know I'm young, but I know what I'm doing."

She didn't drop her eyes, and he smiled. "You can be there, if you want," he relented. "But keep in mind you won't be able to fit him for new ports for at least three days, until the swelling's gone down."

She raised an eyebrow, and he held up a hand placatingly. "No offense intended," he added. "I know you knew that, I was just . . . putting my foot into my mouth," he trailed off.

She gazed down at Ed as the first-year gathered up the bottle and the spent gauze. The Full Metal pain in her ass looked pretty peaceful, all things considered. He'd always been good at sleeping. Hopefully he was somewhere the pain wasn't getting to him.

Having a pleasant dream, far from the place and the people that had done this to him.

He was here. He was safe. In the morning, these ports would be gone, the nerves would be cut back to living tissue, and he'd have to deal with that pain. It would be a shadow of what he'd already been through, but it was going to remind him of his mother, of losing the limbs all over again.

It was going to be hard. And since Maria hadn't mentioned Alphonse, she didn't want to even think why he wasn't sitting at Ed's bedside. Obviously he couldn't, but was that because he was injured as well, or because . . .

What kind of story was Edward going to tell? If this is what had been done to him . . . if Edward Elric, of all people, couldn't escape what he'd been put through -

What had happened to Alphonse?

Surely this wasn't the 'equivalent trade' they kept on about. Surely he hadn't . . . hadn't had this done to himself in exchange for something else. Surely –

Surely Al hadn't gotten killed.

She waited until the doctor got out of the way, then gathered up her things. He escorted her out of the room, closing the door gently behind them, and then she turned.

"I've been traveling all evening," she started, "so I haven't been in contact with Lieutenant Ross since this afternoon. Do you know if anyone else was admitted to the hospital in relation to Edward's appearance?"

The man's face sobered. "Alphonse Elric doesn't have any automail," he murmured, ushering her down the hallway. "So I'm afraid your excuse won't work in his case."

"He's here?"

The doctor's expression didn't change, and something cold and heavy settled in her stomach. "For now," he said quietly. "I'm afraid his ward is off-limits to visitors, mechanics or not."

- x -

It was a horrible trick.

It had to be.

Because the blonde-haired man that leaned over him, with that relieved smile cracking across his otherwise serious face, was all wrong.

Doctor Russell Tringham wasn't real, after all. So there was no reason Russell Tringum should be bent over him, white coat starched and pressed. It should have been Edward's face.

What had he done?

Where was he?

He blinked accidentally, and when he opened his eyes again, the man was gone.

He stared at the white ceiling, instead, and after a moment Alphonse Elric realized he was still breathing.

He was still breathing. And there was no funny whistle, no odd wheeze. Maybe the bullethole had gotten numb, and he just couldn't feel it anymore. Maybe it had gotten congealed and clotted with blood, so he could breathe normally again.

But the ceiling in the janitor's closet wouldn't have been white. It was a dingy sort of place, with wooden shelves nailed haphazardly on the walls, and a threadbare mop stuffed in one corner. The corner that he'd dropped nii-san into when he'd pulled the door shut.

So they must have been found.

Found by the soldiers.

But if that was true, why had they let nii-san treat him?

Why had they saved his life? And when had Edward woken from that odd state he'd been in? It had been as if he'd seen a ghost, as if he couldn't see at all. No amount of shaking, not even a slap across the face, had fazed him at all. He had lain on the stained and filthy bed staring at nothing the same way Al was doing now.

What had they done to nii-san? And would they do the same to him?

Al blinked, and instantly the light level in the room dropped significantly. Now the ceiling was a dark grey, and the light was coming from his left, and it was yellow. It wasn't flickering like firelight, it was steady and seemed warm.

Electricity.

"We're going to run out before we've done enough."

There was a soft shuffle, somewhere near the light, and the sound of something sliding on paper.

"I know."

Something dull brushed against itself.

"It's probably just as well. I think they're starting to get a little suspicious."

"That what?" the voice sounded like the speaker was smiling. "That the great alchemist Russell Tringum has done the impossible?"

"It's not a joke, Fletcher." The second voice was admonishing. "This is a military hospital. If we were caught using it –"

"I know, I know." The other voice sounded not a bit repentant. "But just look at hi- . . . oh!"

Al closed his eyes, knowing that they'd seen he was awake. But they'd known it from the start. They were probably guards at the door, mocking him now that they knew he was really 'Fletcher Tringham,' and not the man whose uniform he'd stolen out of the laundry bins. They'd gotten caught.

He tried to move, tried to get up, but succeeded in nothing. His body didn't feel like anything at all. He wasn't even sure he still had it. He didn't feel the cold ache of steel, so he clearly hadn't somehow been sealed to armor again. This felt . . . heavier. If nothing at all could feel heavy. He felt as though no force on earth had the power to move him.

He also couldn't feel if he'd managed to so much as twitch a finger.

"So much for that," the voice said. It sounded much the same as it had before. Serious. But not accented, the voice wasn't speaking German . . .

Perhaps the Germans had imported American scientists, as rumored?

"I'm sure he'll start staying awake longer soon," the happier voice said reassuringly. "He's already so much better."

"I think that has more to do with your touch than mine," the serious voice replied. It sounded appreciative.

"You're the healer, nii-san. You always have been better than me at that."

"You just get hurt more than I do, because you're clumsy."

"Am not!"

"Used to be."

" . . . well, yeah . . ."

"Ready for another go?"

"Let's do it."

Al braced himself for an impact or a strike, but –

He saw red, but he felt no pain. For a few moments he waited, but it wasn't his imagination. Behind his eyelids, he saw nothing but a red glow.

Al opened his eyes again.

He could see the blonde man – how he looked like Russell Tringum – with his head bowed low, his blonde bangs hanging in his face. Across from him was the slightly rounder face of Fletcher Tringum, and the two of them had their hands –

Their hands were on his throat.

Only he couldn't feel it.

And their hands were glowing red.

_A decomposition!_ his mind screamed. Panic sent a wave of ice shooting through his veins, and with it came sensation.

Excruciating ache. It wasn't like any pain he'd ever felt. It was as though his entire body had been repeatedly flattened with a human-sized rolling pin. Every tingle was unpleasantly sharp and his entire body throbbed. The more he concentrated on it, the more overpowering it became.

It hurt. He hurt.

Was this what decomposition felt like? He'd been a suit of armor the last time he'd been taken apart by alchemy, so he wasn't sure.

But he had to do something.

Alphonse Elric struggled for all he was worth, and managed to pick up his head, ever so slightly. Something stiff and rigid in his throat, something that shouldn't have been there, pulled so strongly he cried out from the pain.

Only he couldn't open his mouth. The cry whimpered out through his nose.

The red light didn't vanish, but both of the Tringums' heads snapped up to stare at him in shock.

"Al? Al, are we hurting you?" It was Fletcher, and he looked extremely concerned. "I'm sorry it hurts, but we're almost finished for now-"

"It probably feels pretty weird, but it'll be fine in a moment," Russell tried in a reassuring tone of voice. "Just bear with us for a few more seconds."

It hurt. Why did it hurt? Why did they say he'd be fine in a second? Would he be dead in a second?

"There."

As promised, the red light vanished.

But the pain didn't go anywhere.

Frightened beyond whimpers, Alphonse Elric struggled with all his might to lift up his head. He had to see, to make sure he still had his body, but more than that, to see where he was. It couldn't be alchemy, because he was in Germany, and the Germans didn't believe in alchemy. Was it magic? Were they trying to put a spell on him?

Was it the Thule Society? Had they been following the uranium bomb? Had they found nii-san?

It couldn't be the Tringums, not really. They were in Amestris.

He wasn't in Amestris.

Was he?

He was unable to pick up his head any further, and after a moment he gave up trying. The thick thing in his throat was concerning him, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was probably the exit wound of the bullet he was feeling, which meant –

Which meant he had survived.

"Al? Al, you probably can't talk yet," Fletcher was saying. "You're in Central, in the hospital. The Major General was here until about an hour ago, then he went to check on Ed. He's not hurt nearly as bad as you were, so we've been saving all of it to use on you."

Al blinked, trying to focus on what Fletcher was holding up for him to see.

"Turns out the old dog hung onto a few pieces, for a rainy day," Russell drawled. "Guess it was raining where you were."

Red stone.

Fletcher was holding red stone.

The Philosopher's Stone?

No, his mind whispered. Those were like the pieces that had fallen out of nii-san's National Alchemist watch.

Alchemy amplification.

"He's going to be in huge trouble if anyone finds out he gave it to us, or that we've been using it," Fletcher said, in a hushed tone. "Remember that, Al. You can't say that you saw us using it to heal you."

"You can tell them the Winding Tree Alchemist healed you," Russell amended. "Just don't mention the incomplete stone, okay?"

"And his brother. The hospital staff knows we're here."

"I don't think he's listening anymore."

"I wonder why he made that sound. When you healed me all those times, it didn't hurt."

Al realized at some point his eyes had drifted closed. The throbbing was getting farther away the more he ignored it, so he focused on the sounds of their voices, instead. Was it really them? Was he really back in Amestris? And had he really brought Ed with him?

"I think it's the first time he's really woken up. Probably just startled him."

"We should go tell Mustang. One of us'll have to stay here until we're sure he's lucid."

"You're right. And probably get a nurse in here to give him something for the pain –"

"That'll keep him out for days!"

"He can't talk, Fletcher. It's not like it matters. Let's make him comfortable. He can tell us what happened later."

"What about the thing?"

"He can tell us later."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Yes, I can drag it on and on and ON! I am cool like that. Sorry for the long time between updates – I had to get some sleep last night. The remainder of the fic will take place in Amestris, in the year 1921, unless otherwise noted. Thank you guys for the faves and the hits and the reviews! Again, if you notice any typos or otherwise weird things, let me know and I will fix them straightaway!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Breda rubbed the back of his neck as he slung himself into the chair on the other side of her rather intimidating mahogany desk.

"I have bad news, then I have worse news. Then I have possibly the best worst news you've ever heard."

Colonel Riza Hawkeye didn't look up from the document she was perusing. He'd have just come right out and said if one of the brothers had died. It was still hard for her to think of them as 'brothers' instead of 'boys.' But then again, she thought of all of the officers that worked in the Major General's office, that were of the male persuasion, as boys.

These were all her boys, regardless of their ages. She, Maria, and Sheska had to take care of them, because they were completely incapable of taking care of themselves.

Adding Ed and Al back to that group would be unexpected, but not at all unpleasant.

So it was really more of a difficulty thinking of them as men instead of children.

Ed and Al would always be the children that never got to be. From the moment she'd seen him, Edward Elric had always behaved like an adult, and Alphonse had always been treated as one because of the armor. Now it was too late for both of them. They were truly grown. Alphonse, much more than Edward. He looked almost a decade older than he had when he'd left, he looked almost the same age Edward did.

Maybe going through the Gate . . . twice, now, since she'd last seen him, had somehow aged him? Maybe the age of his soul had caused his body to race to catch up?

"I'll take the best worst news first," she finally addressed the officer in front of her, glancing at the second page of the document. Breda wasn't really even looking at her, so she knew her split attention wasn't bothering him.

"One of Hakuro's boys works in the lab with Frettley, and spilled the origin of the thing to one of the goldcoats. Investigation has been turned over to the research division."

. . . rats.

Hawkeye let the document fall back to her desk, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "What else?"

Breda pursed his lips. "Doc thinks what happened to Ed wasn't torture. Well, not meant to be," he amended. "He thinks someone that didn't know a damn thing about automail was trying to take it apart and see how it worked. End result is permanent damage to his busted up arm and leg stumps. He's been in surgery for about an hour now."

She realized she was pinching her nose too hard and brought her hand back to the desk. Helplessly watching him writhing on the floor, fighting with the pain, and then having that fit – she would gladly shoot the man or men that had done this to him. Repeatedly. In a non-fatal area. No matter if they hadn't meant to hurt him that badly. That news didn't make her feel any better.

It just made her feel sorrier for Edward. In the world beyond the Gate, there hadn't been automail, or at least that's what Sheska had told her. The uniform probably indicated a military or government institution, Ed had slipped up and they'd realized his arm and leg were automail, and they'd started trying to figure it out.

Oddly ironic, that after Alphonse ran around as a suit of empty armor for so many years, it was Edward that turned out to be the lab experiment.

Hawkeye shook her head quietly. "And the last?"

"Even with the, uh, 'ingredients' Mustang lent the Tringums, Al's still in pretty bad shape." Breda uncharacteristically hesitated. "Doc figures Al Elric should have bought the farm about twenty minutes after getting shot up like he did. Apparently the armor saved him. It was too tight a fit, him appearing inside it like that, and it cut off circulation and kept him from bleeding to death. Apparently it caused a few problems, though, clots and stuff. They're not sure he's gonna be all there when he wakes up."

It never quite worked out for these two, did it, she thought wearily. God knew they deserved something good to happen to them, but they just couldn't seem to catch a break. Had they come so far to stop here? Was this their limit?

If one died, the other would soon follow. Watching Al grow up – again – she knew it. If hope had been yanked away from that little boy, he would have dried up and disappeared. If Edward woke to find Al . . . like that . . .

She knew he'd never again consider making the Philosopher's Stone as an acceptable method of transmuting humans. They wouldn't have used one to get back here, either . . .

But what if . . . what if what they'd brought back was some kind of substitute? Some alternate form of the object they needed?

If the research division determined that, and alerted Parliament –

But at the same time, if Edward could use it to somehow repair Alphonse –

She shook her head. But of course, Ed didn't remember. He didn't remember where he'd been, or that Al had been with him. He probably had no better of an idea what that object was than they did. If Alphonse wasn't able to answer them, and Ed didn't remember . . .

What was it with that blasted Gate taking memories, anyway? First it had been Al's, now Ed's . . . was that some part of the 'Law of Conservation' alchemists kept babbling about?

Then again, considering what he'd been through, perhaps it was better that Ed didn't remember. It was probably bad enough that he'd suddenly found himself in a strange office, in unbearable agony, and heard the news that he might or might not have left Alphonse back in the Gate itself . . . and when he woke up, he could look forward to more pain, questions he couldn't answer, doubt . . .

Riza shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. And here she was, a colonel no less, worrying about it rather than acting to improve the situation. No, that was just unacceptable.

"Work with Sheska. Find out what that thing is, if it was ever in any of the Elrics' mission reports, any books anywhere. Search for it in relation to the Philosopher's Stone."

Breda's eyebrows shot up. "You don't think-"

They'd been wearing military uniforms. She would stake her career on it. And that meant war. And war meant death. Perhaps there had been a slaughter they could not prevent, and rather than let the lives be wasted, they'd somehow sealed them . . . in that thing. Even if it wasn't a true Philosopher's Stone, perhaps the device for containing it had been devised in this world.

At least they could confirm it before a certain major general did anything rash.

"I don't know what it is, but if it's anything that dangerous-"

Breda nodded. "And what if it is?"

What if it was indeed. By now it was in the research department's hands, and since the Parliament had been exercising a few more of their rights, military access to the research departments' results had changed. Once it was discovered to be some sort of massive power source, if that was truly what it was, it would eventually come right back to them. Unrest on the northern and eastern borders was getting out of hand, and Parliament responded far slower than the previous system of a single Fuhrer had. War was brewing for Amestris, thanks to the many decades of the Homunculus' attempts to keep them going.

The ripples from those plans would probably continue on long past her lifetime. Conflict was inevitable. What they needed to prevent would be the massive loss of lives a device like that could possibly cause. Or seal.

The last thing they needed was another intact Philosopher's Stone, or even the promise of one.

No matter what happened to Alphonse Elric.

"Then we'll need to figure that out before they do," she answered simply. "Use whatever means you need to. Come to me for privilege approvals if any are required."

"I thought I was the highest-ranked military official in this office," a sardonic voice murmured from the door.

"You would be the one that delays the longest in signing paperwork," she retorted, without missing a beat. "I won't allow that signature on anything that could later be used to incriminate you in any actions relating to this object."

"I wasn't aware I needed your permission, Colonel." His voice was cool.

Ah. He was in _that_ mood. "Major, you have your orders."

Heymans Breda nodded, jumping out of the seat with a smart salute. "Keep it down, you two. The kids don't like it when mommy and daddy fight."

The major general didn't look too happy about the quip, but he allowed the major to leave without injuring him. Breda had the good sense to close the door behind him.

She expected him to start in immediately, but instead, the major general just strode purposefully across her office, stopping at the window beside her desk. It was possibly his favorite window in the building, besides the one in his own office that faced the same direction. It gave a brilliant view of Central, and if you stood a bit to the right, you could see the rebuilt shopping district.

She didn't have to look at him to know that was what had drawn his gaze.

"How are they?" She hadn't really meant to say it, but when she'd opened her mouth it had just popped out. It was probably the worst question she could have asked him, but it was obvious what was on his mind.

The Elric brothers. And his previous failures as far as they were concerned.

"They'll live." The same cool voice. He almost said more, but then fell silent again.

Hawkeye pushed her chair away from her desk, swiveling to face him. She wanted to join him by the window, but something about his rigid stance told her he was not comfortable enough in his own skin at the moment to allow that sort of impropriety.

He was here for guidance, but not that kind of guidance. He wanted reassurance, but not the kind she ached to offer.

Again, she wished wholeheartedly that she was Maes Hughes.

"I accepted the reinstatement four years ago," he began steadily, "because I thought I had been given another chance. I believed again that I could use my life to make things better."

Riza was quiet. He'd never discussed with her the reasons he had accepted reinstatement as an officer, or why he'd demoted himself in the first place. But both reasons weren't difficult to extrapolate. After Edward's apparent sacrifice to resurrect his brother Alphonse, Roy had undoubtedly felt as though he'd failed the boys. His recovery from his own injuries, his physical therapy, even the excursions she'd dragged him out on, they hadn't done much. Not enough to fill up that cavernous void that was his self-confidence.

His was the reasoning of an adult. He'd used the Elric brothers, Edward especially, initially as part of his schemes. He'd honestly cared for the boys, as he honestly cared for his subordinates. But he'd involved them, allowed them to search for the Philosopher's Stone, and failed to see what was directly in front of his face until it had taken both his best friend and the two children he'd wanted so badly to protect. All because of what he'd known about Laboratory Five. All because of his desire to become a person that no longer had to answer to unjust orders.

More had died in his quest to prevent meaningless death. His plan to become Fuhrer had failed, and the cost had been huge. To a man who believed in alchemy, in science, in 'equivalent exchange,' she didn't even want to know how he rationalized the events of those years. But however he had, she knew he had taken full responsibility. He had believed himself to be incompetent, at least in the attainment of his goals. He'd stopped using alchemy. Maybe he'd stopped believing in it altogether.

He'd lost his faith.

And she hadn't been able to bear seeing him like that.

But the Elric brothers had given it back to him, in a way. They fought literally impossible odds and managed to come out, if not unscathed, at least with their minds intact. They learned. They grew. And they never gave up. They gave him new resolve, even though Edward himself had only been back in Amestris maybe a few hours all told.

The enormous pressure from the Parliament in identifying a hero to rally the morale of the people after the massive destruction done Central had probably helped shove him in that direction. The solidarity his old subordinates had shown him probably helped as well. He was reinstated at his previous rank of Brigadier General, despite his actions against the country in the Northern Rebellion, and given whatever officers he requested to continue his service in the military.

And since then, things had pretty much proceeded exactly like they might have if the Elric brothers – and the Fuhrer – had never been. Promotion, securing the confidence of the Parliament and the military alike . . . his only real opponent was General Hakuro.

Who was, incidentally, the only other serious contender for the newly created position of Prime Minister.

Roy Mustang was literally this close to gaining what he had sought after the Ishbal slaughter.

He was this close to becoming the most powerful man in Amestris. The one that no longer had to take orders from anyone.

Only Hakuro stood in his way. And Parliament had seen in him the same thing the Fuhrer Bradley had seen. He was excellent at following orders, but not bright enough to do anything else. If the Parliament wanted to elect a figurehead, they were free to do so. Mustang, on the other hand, had a reputation for calm and cool analysis of a problem, followed by swift and resolute action to correct it. Because of the unrest on their borders, the Parliament was seriously considering electing someone that could actually lead Amestris effectively, rather than simply give the appearance of doing so.

The race was too close. If Hakuro was able to use the reappearance of the Elric brothers against the major general . . .

It was over. At least for the next five years, which had been the determined length of seat for the Prime Minister. And it was probable that General Hakuro, if put into that position, could effectively remove Mustang both from the military and political future of Amestris. He'd never quite forgiven the Colonel for fooling him so completely during the Northern Rebellion.

And if his attitude was caustic towards Mustang, it was nothing compared to the disdain with which he dealt with Jean. All of their careers were riding on Mustang being elected by the Parliament, or at least, Hakuro not being elected.

That Hakuro was aware that the Elrics had brought something back with them . . . if he determined what it was before Mustang did, be it positive or negative for Amestris, he would gain votes.

"The brothers didn't come to you after Lior because they didn't want to involve you," she reminded him softly, when it seemed that he wasn't going to continue his thought. "They didn't know if they could trust you, but they were also trying to protect you."

"They were children!" he exploded suddenly. "That wasn't for them to decide!"

She watched him silently, waiting for him. It took him a long time to calm down, and she was beginning to think he was simply going to wish her good day when he looked at her.

"I would have helped them then," he told her, very evenly. "I should have. It would have . . . have had more meaning than what I did instead."

This was also the first time he had referred to his retreat from reality as a mistake. She let it go, focusing instead on what he was getting at.

"They won't let you, you know." She softened it with a smile. "Neither will we."

He turned to stare at her in surprise.

"Don't make the same mistake the Elric brothers did." She stood, coming to join him at the window. "Don't assume asking us for help is endangering us. Trust us."

The major general was silent a long time, just watching her. "I do trust you."

"Good," she responded. "Then trust me when I tell you not to throw away your career. We'll find a way to help the Elric brothers and do what needs to be done with the device they brought with them. You need to focus on something more important."

He returned his gaze to the window.

"You need to stay with them and make sure Winry Rockbell doesn't cave Ed's skull in with a wrench." She was half-kidding; in actuality she was a little worried about how the girl was going to take things. Getting Ed re-outfitted with automail was a very real and pressing issue. He had to be able to perform alchemy on the off chance the device was something current alchemists wouldn't or couldn't handle properly.

"I'm not stupid enough to get in her way, Riza. He's on his own."

She snorted, and the atmosphere lightened considerably.

"With all due respect, sir, I think your place is beside them right now. We'll handle things from here."

He crossed his arms across his chest, staring far out into the city. "I don't think it's the Philosopher's Stone."

She took that under advisement. He was, after all, the foremost expert on the stone after the Elrics had vanished. He'd been doing a very good job of discouraging all those checking out the books in the First Library on the subject, even though the information was now even more cleverly encrypted than Marcoh had managed.

They knew it needed to be there, for posterity. So the brightest of future generations would be able to get their hands on the knowledge that, to transmute the Philosopher's Stone, you had to sacrifice, literally, thousands of humans. And that that stone would only be worth a single human resurrection.

Hopefully anyone smart enough to figure it out would also see that it simply wasn't worth it. However, on the off chance that such a slaughter was going to occur anyway –

Then it might be applicable. That didn't make the transmutation right, but it did mean those lives that couldn't be saved could still have value, have purpose. They could have died for a reason, even if that reason was to bring back one lone survivor.

She was pretty sure, if Edward was alive and remained in this world, that he was going to vehemently disagree with the major general's decision regarding that. After all, only the smallest handful of people still knew how to transmute it, and all of them were mortal. They would eventually die, and it followed that if books had not been written, and the information not passed down to apprentices, the Stone would die with them.

She'd have to make arrangements to be out in the countryside when those debates took place.

"What do you think it is?"

He took a deep, slow breath. "Something too dangerous for them to leave behind," he replied. "And the world on the other side of the Gate figured that out, and tried to stop them."

That could make sense. She'd been trying to figure out why Alphonse had been shot – for trying to rescue Edward, or for stealing the device? Or why Edward, no longer needing to be a dog of the military, would join one there to begin with. And why Al would have done so as well, when he hadn't even been willing to sit for the National Alchemy test. Clearly they'd done it for a purpose, and just as clearly, from what little she understood of that world, alchemy didn't apply. If the Homunculus Wrath hadn't gone through the Gate to the other world, the Thule Invasion would never have taken place.

Which begged the question, how did they return? If they didn't use the device, how had they managed it?

"Go." She nudged him gently with her elbow. "Go see them. I'll take care of your paperwork."

He looked like he wanted to be a smart-aleck, but apparently nothing came to his mind, because he just casually tucked his hands into his pockets, and turned for the door.

"Keep me informed, colonel."

- x -

"No way!"

He turned the corner and was unsurprised to find the one that had spoken was none other than the newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Jean Havoc. The blonde was sitting on the very edge of the bench, staring intently at none other than Winry Rockbell.

Of course, now that she was old enough to flirt with, he should have expected nothing less.

Winry seemed to be taking it all in stride, which meant either her subject made her oblivious, or she knew that Havoc was stalling her. He paused at the corner, hoping they hadn't noticed him, and listened.

"But then-" Jean paused, as though rethinking the question quickly. "If Ed had come back with an arm and a leg that his father had designed for him, how did you know the automail you'd made would fit . . . ?"

She made a derisive noise – very unbecoming for someone of both her beauty and build. "The ports are made from steel. They're – ugh. What do you know about automail?"

"Colonel Archer was outfitted with it, and it was scary," Havoc said frankly. Roy had to bite his lower lip to prevent an outburst of laughter.

Winry apparently had anticipated this sort of response, because when she started talking again, it was as though he hadn't spoken. "The basic automail arm is made up of only two components – the port, and the limb itself. The port is permanently attached to the body. It's the harness that connects the automail limb to the body and leaves it free to move. We usually drill into the nearest undamaged bones and-"

"You do this?" He sounded incredulous.

"Of course," she answered, as if he was a little slow. "I mean, first we tend to the blood vessels in the area the limb was lost, and pull the nerves. That's the worst part. Once we've gotten the nerves into the channels, we screw the whole thing together. Usually ports are permanent, so they're designed to take a big beating. They also anchor pretty similarly to the body as the muscle system would, to distribute the weight and force the automail limb will be exerting on their skeleton."

Jean apparently had nothing to say to this. His mouth was probably hanging open. And probably less one cigarette, considering it was a hospital.

"So there was no way Ed could get rid of it," she finished. "I knew if he ever came back, the limb would be busted up, but what I'd made would still fit the port we'd outfitted on him."

"Uh-huh. Wow," Havoc added. Yes, he was definitely trying to stall her. If he was flirting, he would have been a little faster on his toes.

"I wasn't counting on this . . ." Winry's voice was much quieter, somehow different altogether. She'd lost the joy of talking about her profession, and was now speaking of Edward directly.

Smooth move, Havoc.

"Hey." Jean's voice was a little lower, and a bit more serious. "You know him better than I do, but surely there's been improvements in automail since he was a bratty kid. Isn't there anything you can design for him that's a little more Ed-proof? I mean, I know that's impossible," he added as an afterthought, "but with you being both so young and so well-respected in your field, I figured you'd probably have something you'd like to try out on someone, and it seems like Ed sort of owes you."

Roy rested his temple against the wall, and listened for her response. Maybe not so bad a move after all.

" . . . well, with . . . what they did to him . . ." There was a pause. "It looks like they were trying to figure out how the limb connected to the port, and when they tried to put the limb back, they simply didn't take care to make sure all the channels on the limbs slid into the port channels correctly. After that, they assumed the nerves weren't touching, which was correct, they just . . . didn't realize how it all fit together." She took a deep breath. "So I'm not sure Ed's going to want to try anything new."

"You don't give him enough credit," Jean told her softly.

Roy heard the shifting of fabric, and imagined that Havoc had probably put an arm around her.

"He never gave me credit." Her response was muffled. Maybe she was speaking into his shoulder?

"Of course he did," Havoc cried. "He bragged about his damn automail all the time. When we were all bored in the office, and he was . . . well, actually, I guess we were all in East HQ, not Central, but he was under house arrest for something or another . . .anyway, the point is he'd transmute that damn arm of his into everything you could think of. Including a spitwad catapult."

There was a muffled laugh.

"And Kain would just whine about it, and Heymans would shoot back snotballs – the point is, once Hawkeye got onto him for it, saying he was going to wreck the thing if he kept playing with it. And he said that was true, if he transmuted more than the surface, he wasn't sure he could reconstruct the entire thing properly. Him. Boy genius himself said it was too complex for him to screw with."

Winry didn't say anything, but Jean was on a roll.

"And once Mustang threw a catalogue at him and told him to get himself outfitted with a weapon – this was back after his first fight with Scar, so I guess the first time he went to you for a new arm – and he said flat-out that his automail was the best in the country and if you hadn't put a gun in his arm or leg, then he didn't need one."

"He could just transmute one." Her voice was still muffled. "Besides, I was afraid he'd shoot himself."

"Probably so. And I think you weren't the only one," Jean added as an afterthought. "Hawkeye took him to the shooting range all of twice. The second time, I'm pretty sure they came back early because she was going to take him out instead of a target."

This time, Winry really laughed. Even Jean chuckled at the memory.

"So what do you have in mind for him this time?"

More shifting of fabric. She was leaning away now. "Well, we came up with a new alloy last winter." The confident mechanic voice was back. "It's a little heavier than what we last outfitted him with, but I doubt he's going to get any taller so we don't need to worry about weight so much anymore."

Ouch. But probably accurate.

"It's extremely durable, and fairly easy to work with. The other advantage is some of the components can be hollow, so despite the weight it'll be a little more buoyant than the last limb. Drowning is a problem for our customers who are too stupid to stay away from water, and it's also inconvenient."

"Drowning . . .is usually inconvenient, yes." Jean sounded a little worried at her cavalier tone, but at least he had successfully cheered her up.

Mustang half-grinned, then pushed himself off the wall and finished his turn around the corner. He'd been roughly correct; Jean still had an arm draped casually over Winry's shoulders, and she was a little more relaxed-looking than he'd last seen her. Both of them looked up at his approach, and the arm snaked back to Jean's side.

He stood immediately and smartly saluted. Roy returned the gesture with a murmured, "At ease, Lieutenant Colonel."

Winry nodded to him, which he also returned, then looked back at Havoc. "Oh, I see," she said after a moment. "You've been promoted, then, since last I saw you?"

Havoc puffed out his chest. "Yes, I have. It seems someone finally noticed all the work I've been doing around here for the last six years-"

"And demotions can occur in the blink of an eye," Mustang finished coolly.

Jean stopped immediately, but he knew the other man knew he was joking. Mostly.

Winry, however, seemed to take offense to the joke, her face growing serious.

"Who did that to Edward?"

Well, he'd been expecting her to ask, but certainly not so bluntly nor out in the middle of the hallway. The hospital was trying to keep the Elric brothers a secret, considering they were celebrities in Amestris when they were alive, let alone after the rumors of the successful transmutation of the Philosopher's Stone. And Alphonse had been getting a lot of attention before his disappearance four years ago.

At the same time, brushing off her serious tone would be a mistake. There was no need to patronize her; she was an adult now, as well. "Men that are too far for us to reach," he replied. He would kill the brothers himself if they ever even mentioned going through that Gate again. "Can I assume Edward's surgery was successful?"

"Oy, yes, I was supposed to call!" Jean's hand shot to the back of his head and he rubbed it vigorously. "It's just I was distracted by this beautiful women, and when I realized who she was, I was transfi-oof!"

Winry Rockbell had elbowed him in the gut.

"We finished thirty minutes ago." Again, all business. "Please thank Major Breda for me. His friend allowed me to observe during the surgery."

Mustang bowed his head again. "I overheard a bit of talk regarding Edward's replacement automail," he commented. "Can I assume he will still be able to use it?"

Winry nodded, her eyes serious, as Jean rubbed his aching ribs and looked her up and down with new respect. "Just. If he screws up again, he's going to lose most of the articulation at his shoulder."

"Then we'll have to prevent him from doing so," he replied.

She sighed, and crossed her arms, obviously fighting with something. He glanced up and down the hall; they were mostly alone, as in the effort to hide Edward from the public and the media, they'd put him in a mostly empty wing.

"Is there something else, Miss Rockbell?"

She stood, shouldering a large, dark canvas bag as she did so. " . . . I understand Alphonse is here, but they won't let me visit him." For some reason, she was no longer meeting his eyes, preferring to stare at the chair-rail extending the length of the hall wall behind him.

Havoc glanced his way, but Mustang ignored him. "That's correct. Standard policy regarding a pending military investigation."

The hand clutching her shoulderstrap curled tighter into a fist, but her voice was steady and even. "I understand."

"Lieutenant Major."

Havoc snapped back to attention. "Sir!"

"Speaking of Alphonse Elric, the colonel prepared a few questions for him." Roy fished a folded piece of paper out of his uniform pocket, handing it to Havoc. "Please secure his room for an interview."

Havoc's eyes were questioning, but he saluted and strode back down the hallway. 'Securing the room for an interview' just meant chasing out any hospital staff, and would only take a few seconds. There had been no real need to send him ahead for something so trivial.

Of course, the sheet of paper didn't have questions for Al on it, either.

"Where are you staying in the city, Ms. Rockbell?"

She still stared at about his shoulder-height, not meeting his eyes. He thought she'd have grown out of that by now, but then again, he was also surprised she'd yet to come after _him_ with a wrench. Or something more fatal. He wasn't sure it mattered to her that he was trying to work his way up the ranks to ensure an order like the one to kill her parents was never issued again. He wasn't sure knowing such a thing would matter to him.

And despite Sheska bringing Winry back to the HQ for her debriefing after the Thule Invasion, and Hawkeye and Sheska both keeping in contact with her, their face-to-face interactions had been kept extremely brief over the years. That she still spoke so civilly to him was something that caused him to respect her a great deal.

She had no need to, after all. She had no affiliation with the military. She was polite with him because she chose to be, because she was raised to be and because she knew it was the most efficient and painless way for them to communicate.

She was a reason he couldn't throw everything away and let Hakuro take that seat.

"I haven't chosen a hotel yet," she admitted. "I spent the night here."

"Colonel Hawkeye has asked me to extend an invitation for you to spend your remaining time in her home. It is spacious and Black Hayate would enjoy another playmate."

Winry smiled despite herself, looking at him as though she'd forgotten her previous disappointment. "Has he buried any more bones lately, Major General?"

Roy Mustang used every ounce of his self-control to avoid gaping at her. Had she really just joked?

And had Hawkeye really told her that story?

He couldn't help it. He smiled back.

"I've been keeping my distance," he admitted. "The mutt's new trick involves rubbing his winter undercoat on unsuspecting officers' jackets."

Winry snorted. "Probably not on Riza's."

"No, he'd get shot," Mustang agreed. "If you are not too exhausted from your work here, would you mind accompanying me?"

She gave him a questioning look, but then shrugged, and followed him as he started walking back down the hallway. They were silent until the reached the circular lobby of the hospital, and he approached the military checkpoint. Both soldiers there immediately saluted, and the one on the right offered him the sign-in clipboard with a respectful "Sir!"

He fished his pocketwatch out of his uniform, glancing at the time before noting it on the clipboard, beside his signature. Then he handed the clipboard and its attached pen to Winry Rockbell.

She stared at it, making no move to take it. "I thought-"

"You will be returning for every interview," he cut her off. "As an expert witness, you will also be charged with keeping everything you hear unrelated to your field in confidence. Do you agree?"

She blinked at him, then slowly accepted the clipboard. "I-I . . . yes."

He just nodded curtly, and looked at the second guard expectantly. He stood frozen a moment before he figured out he was supposed to be getting her a pass. Then he scrambled for the desk, extracting a chain and a square of paper on thick stock.

"Name," he asked her, and Winry haltingly gave him the information. He made sure the second sergeant stamped it with the military seal, and then he took the chain and the card from the man.

"Keep this on you at all times," he instructed her, attaching the chain to the her belt. "This pass allows you access not only to interviews in this facility, but access to the main facilities for your debriefs and court proceedings. Do not lose it. If it is lost or stolen, notify my offices immediately."

She just nodded dumbly.

He glanced at the two soldiers, and they snapped again to attention. "Busy day?"

Their expressions shifted slightly. "No, sir!"

"The Winding Tree Alchemist, his brother, and three nurses are currently in the ward," the second one volunteered. Mustang gave a nod of approval and strode between them, down the hall. Behind him, he heard the whisper of Winry's footsteps following him.

She was silent until they were halfway down the hall, long out of the earshot of the guards. "But Al doesn't . . . need automail, does he?"

"No," he admitted. "Edward Elric doesn't seem to remember what happened to him. In fact, he doesn't seem to remember anything after he left on the enemy airship." He gave her a moment to mull that over. "As his mechanic, I thought there may be some questions you had for Al that might assist you in further diagnosis."

Of course, they'd already removed Ed's ports and repaired what damage had been done to his body, so diagnosis was over. And Al hadn't spoken a word, according to the State Alchemist that had once been sentenced to death for using Edward's name. But if there was any chance that Ed was going to remember what he'd been through, he might react negatively to the idea of new automail. She'd need to know about it.

And Al could use a more familiar face to look at than his or Russell's. Since they couldn't bring Ed to him, she was the next best thing to a family member.

She was a bright girl. She'd figure it out.

"He was shot twice directly before coming back to this world," he continued. "Currently Russell and Fletcher Tringum have volunteered their alchemy towards repairing his body."

Winry followed quietly along, finally moving to walk beside him. "Is he going to be alright?"

He didn't answer. He didn't really know. The last he'd heard, Al had responded to their healing by making a noise, but he hadn't made any effort to speak, and he hadn't moved at all. He opened his eyes and could focus on things for a very brief amount of time, which was encouraging, but not necessarily reassuring.

If that was all he could do, Edward was going to kill himself trying to figure out what he'd forgotten. Ed would go back to the Gate and lose another limb to get back the memories, if only to find a way to fix his brother.

And if Roy wasn't mistaken, that would probably work. He had probably lost his memories coming back through the Gate. But why? Trade for passage? Would it be enough? When he'd reappeared four years ago, he didn't appear to have paid anything at all. And that Alphonse was able to transmute part of his soul into a suit of armor that went to the other side and that part returned back through the Gate . . . what did it pay? Was Al losing a piece of his soul every time he passed through it?

One thing was certain, though. If Alphonse Elric was still in this bad of shape after being treated by the Winding Tree Alchemist and his younger brother, he surely would have died without their help. Coming back to Amestris had saved his life, and it had probably saved Edward's as well.

If nothing else, it had saved Ed's mind from the pain that would have been the whole of his world.

They came back for help. Even though neither one of them could speak, they were shouting for it.

And they were going to get it.

No matter what he had to pay to give it to them.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: You know, I'm laughing right now. Really. These chapters are getting longer and I'm covering less and less ground. At least the stage is set for the last bit of the fic, eh? Thank you guys so much for the hits and reviews! I'm glad I'm not the only one that found the movie to be a less than satisfactory conclusion to the anime! And I'm really glad you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I am. As always, no beta reader, and I found a few typos on my read-through, which means there are more. I apologize for them in advance!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Riza Hawkeye stepped out of the bathroom, automatically taking a large stride to avoid kicking the large and furry mass she knew would be there.

That was what stopped her, actually.

It wasn't.

To her memory, the only times Black Hayate forwent the opportunity to lick the bottom of the tub dry was when he had been given an extra-large or extra-chewy breakfast, or if there was an intruder in her home. The formers were much more common than the latter, which had happened only once, and had resulted in a very punctured burglar.

And it was doubtful that this was the case this morning, considering the intruder had been invited into the home, and had also been there for three days.

However, Black Hayate hadn't abandoned his shower-cleanup duties on Tuesday or Wednesday, which made her wonder what was so special about today?

Toweling dry her hair, the colonel padded lightly into the main living room of her home. She'd finally decided that they weren't getting transferred out of Central and sprung for a house, though she wasn't sure why. Someday she wanted to settle down, and maybe start a family. Something about having space that was entirely hers appealed to her. No dorms, no military neighbors, just civilians. Neighbors.

People.

The rough sounds of a small ratchet ground from the kitchen, and she followed them to find Winry Rockbell folded up in one of her kitchen chairs. In front of the lithe blonde was a pile of metal, made up into some kind of cage. It shone in the bright morning sunlight. She was apparently putting the finishing touches on it, whatever it was, because she set down the ratchet and whipped out a millimeter ruler.

Then she began a string of swearwords that caused Black Hayate, who was watching her from the middle of the kitchen floor, to cock his head at her in interest.

"Just what do you think you're teaching my dog, Winry Rockbell?"

The girl didn't even flinch, to her credit. She was dressed much as she had been the past two days – work overalls, in this case the front apron actually hung below her waist, revealing the white tank top she customarily wore beneath it. She'd been working on Ed's new automail, having found a very ingenious use for the Tringums when they weren't concentrating on Al.

She was going into town and buying wagonloads of cheap metal scraps, and then using the alchemists to make her steel-iron alloy. And every time they presented her with a nice, shapely piece of whatever it was she had asked for, she would get this oddly predatory gleam in her eyes. Hawkeye was convinced she was going to kidnap one or both of the Tringums when she left for Resembool. She wasn't even sure she'd stop the girl.

Russell Tringum was a National Alchemist, but his brother Fletcher had yet to sit for the test. She had never been close enough with the boys to inquire why, but it did mean Fletcher was free to roam the country or any of its neighbors at any time. She'd have to ask Maria about it, assuming Winry didn't just stuff the boy into a suitcase and carry him off.

It might be a good thing for him to get into, supplying automail mechanics with base metals. Apparently no one had thought to make such an exulted thing as an alchemist perform such a minor service, but he could probably make fair money doing it.

"Sorry," the younger woman finally murmured, lost in her work. "I'll try to stick with the military-approved words from now on."

Riza smiled, and noted a pot of tea had already been made. She helped herself; it was her kitchen, after all. "I see you've spent too much time with Havoc and Breda."

She just shrugged. "They've gotten much better." Then she paused in her work, and turned to look through her bangs at the older woman. "Haven't you guys been able to find Jean a girl _yet_?"

Riza almost spit out her tea. "It's not as easy as you'd think," she coughed.

The other woman nodded, then picked up a small set of needle-nosed pliers. "Rose got married, finally."

"Oh?" Wasn't that the Lior girl that had been living with her and her aunt in Resembool? The one Scar involved in his plot to transmute the Philosopher's Stone? "Did she marry someone from your hometown?"

"The man who brings the bookcart," she replied, then paused. "And the orphans."

Ah. It did seem as though the woman had more children than she should have at her age. "Is she still living in town?"

Winry picked up the odd cage-like thing, winding her fingers through it deftly. She wiggled them around, watching the results closely. "She's moving back to Lior, actually, now that the reconstruction's been finished." Winry forced the odd mechanism to drum several of its longer, sharp-looking pieces on the table.

Hawkeye watched her for a few moments, then set down her teacup. "Are you angry with him?"

Winry was pulling her hand out of her creation, and didn't answer for a long time. But Riza knew full well the other woman knew to whom she was referring. And why they were having idle chat regarding a woman that, unless Hawkeye was very much mistaken, Winry was jealous of.

Why? Did it have anything to do with Ed's involvement in the plot Scar had come up with? Had he and this Rose grown close in that time? Or did she suspect it?

"I was until I saw him," she finally responded, laying the mechanism gently on the table and breaking out the ratchet again. "I thought he was gone, you know? Alive, but . . . not coming back. Not home, anyway."

Home of course meaning Resembool. The place that still hosted the burned fragments of their childhood home.

And all the memories that had forced mere children to make the decision that they could never return to it.

"I think for Ed, home is anywhere he knows his loved ones are safe," she replied, coming to take a seat at the kitchen table and watch the mechanic at work. "He left to make sure the Thules or any other enemies from that side of the Gate could never come here again."

Winry paused in her work, then sighed. "Stupid," she muttered finally. "What the hell is the problem with men? They think self-sacrifice is noble, that it makes everyone happy, but it doesn't. It doesn't make anyone happy." She wiped at her face, and it was only then that Riza realized she was crying. "I know they didn't mean it, but it felt like they threw us away. They went back there without a second thought."

"I'm sure it was with many second thoughts," she chided gently. "Ed thought he was leaving Alphonse here, you know. He separated the ship that carried them and left Al with Mustang."

Winry looked up at her, her face shining with tears. She had to have been crying the entire conversation, or even before Riza had left the bathroom.

"He left Al?"

Riza just nodded, picking up a stray bolt and turning it over in her fingers. "I think Ed spent more time with you getting fitted with his automail than he spent with Alphonse."

Winry dropped the ratchet into her lap, and her hands soon followed. "Then how . . .?"

Riza half-smiled. "The then-Corporal Mustang didn't have the heart to let Ed make that kind of mistake. He knew full well what gaining and then losing Ed would do to Al, better than I think Ed did. But he couldn't do anything about their return through the doorway. They had to go there and seal it, Winry. There really wasn't any choice. Central would have been decimated if other armies had come through there. Half the city would have collapsed into the underground cavern."

The automail mechanic remained slumped there in the seat. "Just the same, I wish they hadn't gone," she whispered.

Of course, Riza hadn't spent the last three days working on automail watching Al suffer and Ed sleep through the worst of his pain. She'd spent it pouring over every volume the Fullmetal Alchemist had ever written, every report, every communication. Anything to give them a clue as to what the device was, before Research figured it out.

She understood from Frettley that they were being super-careful with it, and Research had come to the same conclusion she had – it probably had to do with the Philosopher's Stone. As such, they were having alchemists look it over, but so far they were not allowing anyone to open it to inspect the contents. There really was no telling what was inside something that stoutly built. Obviously, it was under pressure, as it had a valve system. And it was extremely heavy for its weight.

That fact, however, was the only reason she had Sheska now looking for anything in Ed's reports that did _not_ involve the Philosopher's Stone.

Al had become extremely light, when his armor was transmuted into the Stone. She remembered seeing him almost able to swim, once she'd gotten over her horror at the idea that the blood seal keeping Al's soul tied to the armor was about to be washed away.

That was the only detail she could think of that wasn't in any report, and she could be sure that Hakuro's men would be looking at the Philosopher's Stone information exclusively. While she was doubtful it could be unrelated, she wasn't going to disregard anything.

"How was Al yesterday?"

Winry sniffed quietly, wiping her eyes again. "He's frustrated," she said quietly. "He's still in there, I know he is. He's just . . . he's still very sick."

The fact that pneumonia had set in, thanks to the damage and clots in his lungs, had kept Russell and Fletcher struggling just to prevent the illness from getting any worse. Her understanding of healing alchemy was pretty limited, but it looked an awful lot like human transmutation to her. It was apparently extremely difficult to treat a human illness or injury with alchemy, because each human being was slightly different, therefore the ingredients had to be selected per patient, and there was a lot of trial and error involved in producing a highly efficient treatment.

"But." Winry's voice was forced back to the chipper and professional tone Hawkeye knew well. "I think I've found a way to make him a little happier."

She indicated the metal-like cage in front of her, and Hawkeye stared at it a moment. "I'll . . . take your word for it," she responded, getting back up for her forgotten cup of tea.

Winry looked over her creation critically, then set about packing it in a box.

- x -

"Well, you know Hakuro's never had as much faith in alchemists since Mustang and Armstrong," Russell pointed out. "It was really only a matter of time. It isn't like they're going to be helpful."

"I don't understand why he's got so much sway over the research," Fletcher yawned. "I get that he's higher-ranked than the Flame Alchemist, but Parliament's never really swung one way or the other."

"The general's got a lot of clout. Remember, half the goldcoats were in support of Fuhrer Bradley before he disappeared. Bradley gave Hakuro a lot of attention, so it stands to reason . . ."

Al blinked, and looked at Winry. She seemed to be almost done with whatever it was she was doing. She'd explained to him in a cheerful voice that she was outfitting his hand with 'bionics', but he could neither pick up his head far enough to see what it was, or feel more than the most peripheral of sensations.

After all these years in a human body instead of armor, he missed every sensation that much more. The only one he could really 'feel' in the armor had been temperature – as an alchemist he knew the subtle changes in the iron of his armor had indicated expanding or contracting, thus hot or cold. It hadn't been like feeling, but of all the sensations he missed, he supposed that one had ended up being the most important.

It had told him nii-san's soul would still be at the Gate. That his body was just barely still alive, because it was still warm.

Now he couldn't tell if he was hot or cold. He ached, and that was about it. Fletcher said he'd managed to move his left foot yesterday, but he didn't feel it. The doctors had tried to reassure him his system was still in shock, from blood loss and then from being slightly crushed, but he was certain behind closed doors the men were telling his companions more.

They thought he was permanently damaged. They thought he couldn't understand them.

The Tringums never came out and said it, never seemed less cheerful or less determined in their attempts to heal his body. Without the Red Stone to take the guesswork out of the required ingredients, they weren't having much luck. He wasn't sure what was so damn complicated about it, either, he had a human body like everyone else and it wasn't as though the ingredients were unknown. Purchasable with the pocket change of any child.

Cheaply made.

He was glad nii-san was in another room. He had hoped he'd be better much sooner, so that Edward wouldn't have to see him like this.

Was this because he'd partially decomposed his own body before he'd reached the Gate? Because the Tringums didn't know that it was a possibility, and if he was actually missing ingredients, they didn't have a chance at repairing him. They were treating his symptoms, and in the art of healing alchemy, there were certain things it was accepted couldn't be fixed.

Because then it stopped being about healing merely the body, and crossed over into human transmutation.

He should have died.

It should have been his death that powered the transmutation circle.

But it had probably been their deaths. The deaths of all those people, in the cells below. That was probably what provided the power to get them to the Gate. Maybe to get them all the way through. But then again, maybe he'd traded something else? Something that would explain why he was in this state?

Why couldn't he remember? He'd tried to restore Ed's body again, make him like he was, and Ed had been pulled into the Gate, but then . . .

Then what? Why couldn't he remember?

Hadn't Ed had his real arm and leg?

Then why were they talking about Ed's automail? Why was Winry here at all?

If only he could talk!

Once again, Alphonse Elric opened his mouth. He could do that, now, a little bit. The thing in his throat seemed to get smaller every day, and he could swallow very small amounts of food, but he couldn't force his tongue into anything remotely like a word. It was flat and thick and dry, and he just couldn't make it bend.

"Almost done," Winry assured him, noting his attempt at speech. "It might take a little getting used to, but we'll make it work."

"Oy, what _are_ you doing to him?"

"I told you. I'm outfitting him with bionics."

"And that means . . ."

Winry glanced up at Russell, who looked serious as always. "I noticed he seems to be able to move his right hand a little more consistently than anything else. He curls it up when he's angry . . ." She trailed off, then beamed at Al. "But this will make it like you can use it like normal!"

"How does it work?" Apparently Fletcher had noticed that Winry was a little on the desperate side, and Russell's serious and logical approach was not helping her.

He'd always liked Fletcher.

Winry seemed relieved that it wasn't another complaint. "Well, I've attached these bands to his fingers, here. They control the movement of the mechanical fingers, but it's exaggerated."

"You mean, the fact that his mechanical fingers are bigger than his real ones?"

Al blinked at Winry as she focused back on him, moving to sit just beside his head.

"I mean, all he has to do is move his fingers a little bit, and the mechanical ones will move a lot," she explained, more to him than to Fletcher. "Give it a try, Al."

A little unsure, he tried to wiggle his fingers. There was a slightly clanking sound, and Winry clapped her hands excitedly.

"Very good, Al! Can you move them independently?"

She was clapping because he could wiggle his fingers.

Al closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. This was better than nothing. If he could control this mechanical hand, he could write –

Of course, nii-san said writing with an automail hand was extremely difficult. It had taken him years to learn how.

At least he could give them a thumbs up or down. At least he could communicate on some level.

Hesitantly, he tried to wiggle only his second finger. After a moment, he opened his eyes to find Winry had vanished. Picking up his head slightly, he saw she had moved back to his hand, and was watching it intently.

So no. He couldn't even do that.

"Careful, Al! This is a prototype and you can break it if you do that." Winry was looking back at him with worry. "I'll make it work, Al. Just give me time."

He must have curled it into a fist. Why could he do that and not anything more useful? ! Time was the one thing they didn't have! Not if what the Tringums said was true.

Not if General Hakuro had called in physicists to look at the uranium bomb.

There was no chance Mustang and his subordinates would determine what it was. He and nii-san had removed all record of it from the report, except to say that Huskisson had invited them there to inspect a 'fission-type device,' and after they determined it was pretty much worthless, he had taken it with him when he'd attempted human transmutation. He had vanished with it and then his castle – and research – had inexplicably been destroyed by a series of chained, massive explosions, probably triggered by the failed transmutation.

From what little he'd heard of the current politics, it seemed Colonel Mustang wasn't a colonel anymore. He was now a Major General, well on his way to becoming the Prime Minister – the replacement seat of the Fuhrer. General Hakuro was apparently still alive and well, and was fighting Mustang for the position.

And their arrival had come just before elections.

Not only that, but he was certain the plots of the Homunculi probably hadn't completely vanished yet, and Fuhrer Bradley's aggressive military policy had left a lot of damage and distrust. The Parliament was still in its infancy as far as running the country was concerned, and would probably leap at a weapon that could destroy an entire city in a single explosion. If nothing else, just the threat of it being used would be enough to stop any aggressive moves towards Amestris.

But would the Parliament be wise enough not to use it to expand their borders? Could any government be trusted with something that destructive?

If Ed was still unconscious, and he couldn't speak . . . if the government realized what they had . . .

Well, then he and Ed would have to go and destroy it. And do it in a way that didn't involve Roy Mustang. Luckily, it didn't seem like Huskisson had come back to Amestris, though they hadn't met him on 'Earth,' so maybe he was the only Amestris physicist that had come up with the idea, but . . .

But if they examined it enough to realize what it was, and could build another – then what?

General Hakuro would use it. Al was certain of it.

Assuming Central didn't get completely destroyed when they opened the valve and accidentally set it off.

Then he wouldn't have anything to worry about. There wouldn't be anyone surviving that knew what had destroyed the city of Central – again – in a single day.

A whole city could pay the price of his failure.

"Oh, Al," Winry said softly, and he opened his eyes to find her hovering above him, touching his face.

No. She was wiping his face.

"Please don't cry." Her own eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I just can't bear it. I'll make this work, Al. I promise I will."

- x -

"I think we should wake up Ed."

Sheska glanced up from the report she was going over, staring at him with huge, round eyes.

"But he's in pain! He had to –"

"I know what happened to him." Hadn't he been the one to tell the colonel, after all? "It's a tough break, but he's a tough kid. I'm sure he can handle it."

The sergeant continued to look horrified. Heymans Breda leaned back in his chair, rubbing his scruffy face vigorously with his hand. What he wouldn't kill for a couple hours off, a nap, a shower, and a shave. And a bottle of something tasty.

"We know he doesn't remember what happened, or at least he didn't. But who's to say this thing came from that side of the Gate and not this one? Or that he won't remember now that he's not . . . not as bad off as he was. I mean, hell, the colonel has us looking for anything, now. It can't hurt to ask."

"Can't hurt _you_," she snapped back. "He's supposed to remain sedated until tomorrow morning. If you want, we can ask him then."

Breda frowned, staring at the paperwork in front of him without actually seeing it. God, this was just a trip down memory lane, the last one had had to do with Ed's first run-in with Scar . . .

"I got a bad feeling about this," he muttered. Waiting seemed wrong. Wrong like setting up an ambush and knowing you should have checked the personnel logs on the supply line, just to make sure you knew all those guys and trusted them, but you figured you could do it in the morning because you didn't expect the enemy for a week.

"Oy. Breda."

He glanced across the table to see Vato Falman watching him with a very strange look on his face.

"Did you just say you had a bad feeling?"

The large man nodded. He really did. Hadn't had this bad feeling in a long time, but he knew better than to call it exhaustion.

That thing the Elrics brought back with them, there was a reason. And he didn't like that it was out of the military's hands now, not one bit. Or that Hakuro had managed to get his own experts in there this morning.

He was up to something. Something that wasn't going to be good for the Elrics, and wasn't going to be good for them.

"The last time you said you had a bad feeling," Vato was thoughtful a moment, "the tracks just ahead of the limited express we were riding were destroyed by the Drachmans."

"I think the time before that was during the Thule Invasion, right after the first earthquake," Kain noted, from behind a huge stack of reimbursement requests. They were hoping to find a receipt outlining all the ingredients that had been used to make the thing, in the hopes it would tell them about when Ed and Al had discovered the device, or even created it.

"You mean, you can predict things?" The sergeant's eyes were wider still, and the accusatory look was fading.

"He can predict when the regiment is about to run out of coffee, at any rate," Ross noted from her own fat file. "I'm pretty sure you said that while waiting in line at the mess last week."

"Hey, wasn't I right?"

"We've spent three days at this, and we've not gotten anywhere," Denny shoved his papers aside. "At this point we're rereading what each other has read in the hopes of catching something. There's nothing here that can help us, at least not in these notes. I agree. If Alphonse can't speak, let's ask Edward."

"I'll phone Alphonse's room," the first lieutenant volunteered. "I think Jean and Winry Rockbell are there. She can confirm it's okay to wake him up at this stage, and Havoc's decent with a pencil. He can probably sketch the device out recognizably enough."

"Where's Alex Armstrong when you need him," Denny murmured. "That guy is ridiculously good at drawing."

"He actually should be around Central somewhere," Sheska noted, as Maria strode across the conference room for the phone. "He heard the Elric brothers had reappeared, and was eager to visit them. He should have gotten in from Lior this morning."

"What's all this talk?"

They might have snapped to attention if it had been Mustang, but then again, maybe not. Even though Hawkeye had used her official colonel voice, no one had the energy to respond appropriately.

"This is a wash," the master sergeant indicated the papers strewn across the table. "We're going to get Havoc to ask Ed, on the off chance he might know."

The colonel's face shifted subtly to concern for a moment. "I'm not certain we can override the authority of his doctor."

"Winry?"

All eyes turned to Maria Ross.

"Yes, hello . . . fine, thank you. How's Alphonse? . . . I see. I'm afraid it is a business call, are any officers with you? . . . yes, he counts as an officer . . . thank you."

Abruptly the first lieutenant tore the phone away from her ear, and they all clearly heard Havoc.

"Oy?"

Maria glared at the earpiece of the phone. "Havoc, have you been drinking?"

His answer was quieter, and she was able to put the phone back to her ear.

"I see. They always did remind me of the Elric brothers . . . find out whether Edward can be woken from sedation today . . . yes . . . no, now actually. And find out if he knows what the device is . . . yes, a sketch would be fine . . . yes . . . thank you."

Havoc was still talking when she hung up the phone.

"They'll find out, and ring us back," she reported, when she realized everyone was staring at her.

Hawkeye nodded. "Has anyone seen the Major General in recent history?"

All eyes looked at each other blankly, then looked back at the colonel.

She swore quietly, and marched back into her office.

- x -

"That's it."

Alphonse gritted his teeth, and tried to remember exactly what it felt like to write. Exactly how it was to grip chalk in his armor hands, when he couldn't feel it at all. Exactly how much pressure he'd learned his iron fingers could exert before the chalk broke. This hand didn't work quite the same, but it seemed to be a better approximation than his actual, physical hand was.

"Okay, you've picked it up," Fletcher told him. All three had their eyes on the right-hand side of his bed.

Painstakingly, he drew out the largest, clearest B he could. No one said anything, but there were a few furrowed eyebrows, and he could hear the chalk grinding on the slate. So he was writing something. Maybe they'd recognize the word when he finished it.

O. M. B.

Surely they couldn't mistake those shapes for anything else.

"Six . . ."

". . . and then I guess a zero . . ."

"Then an M!"

"And a D. Sixty MDs?"

Three confused faces turned back to him, and he just closed his eyes, and tried again.

"Is this about the device?"

He waved his hand emphatically, or at least imagined it was waving.

"Okay, so that's what it is," Winry soothed. "You're telling us about it. What it is. Sixty what?"

He shook his hand emphatically, trying to keep it on a vertical plane only. They'd picked that up pretty quickly.

"No. Not sixty something?"

He shook his hand again.

"Okay." Russell's voice held some authority. "Al, is the first symbol a six?"

He indicated no.

"Is it a number?"

Another no.

"Is it a letter?"

This time he waggled the hand all around.

"Okay, not a six. Is it a b?"

More hand-waggling.

"Okay. Second symbol." Fletcher seemed to be catching on to what his brother was getting at. "Is that a letter?"

He imagined he was getting pretty good at flapping his mechanical hand around.

"It's an O, isn't it," Winry asked quietly.

He listened to the almost pleasant clink of the mechanical hand.

"Okay. Third symbol, is it an M?"

Once he'd indicated that, Fletcher took a sharp breath.

"Bomd? No –"

"Bomb," Russell said quietly.

Al tried to shake the mechanical parts right off his actual hand.

"It's a bomb? But, it's so tiny."

He shook his hand as hard as he could.

"It's a powerful bomb, isn't it." Fletcher's voice was very subdued.

Winry's makeshift prosthetic hand clinked.

"Someone call up the colonel. We need to warn them before those idiots set it off."

- x -

His breath tickled the bottom of his lungs, and he coughed. It hurt to cough, and he took a careful breath when he was done, testing his lungs. They didn't want to expand properly, but after a moment they did so, and he realized he was awake.

The second thing he realized was that his arm hurt.

His arm hurt a lot.

And so did his leg.

Memories came flooding back, and his eyes flew open. They didn't hurt like they did, but they still hurt. Hurt almost like when he'd first gotten his automail.

The first thing he saw was a white ceiling. For some reason, that tripped a panic response in him, and he gasped as adrenaline flooded his system. He obviously wasn't in the colonel's office anymore, and he blinked, then picked his head up and glanced around.

He was lying in a hospital bed, but clearly not a German one. For one thing, the equipment was much different. Outside of one needle in his arm, there was nothing else there. For another, Jean Havoc was sitting on the edge of his bed, furiously scribbling on a pad of paper.

Jean Havoc. Not his doppelganger back on Earth. The soldier was in his oddly unwrinkled blue Amestris military uniform.

He was really back in Amestris.

But . . . how? He'd barely heard the colonel when he'd told him Al had gone with him, and Hawkeye had said that was four years ago . . . could they have been stuck in the gate for four years? What pulled them out again?

Where was Al?

"H-Havoc." It was hard to talk; and the man jumped up and went to a small table by the window, pouring a glass of water. The sound of liquid sloshing into a cup had never sounded so inviting, and he reached out fairly greedily when the second lieutenant held it out.

He was more than halfway through the glass when he realized Havoc was wearing far too many stripes.

He was a Lieutenant Colonel.

"Sorry to wake you up like this, Edward." He sounded truly sorry. "I've got to ask you a quick question, and then Doctor Patterson will put you back to sleep."

"No." He shook his head, handing the glass back to the other man before using his arm to lever himself up. The right one was gone; that hadn't been a dream, then. He glanced at his right shoulder, surprised to see it wrapped up. It hurt like the dickens, too, but it was a shadow of the pain he'd felt the first time. "What's wrong with my automail?"

"We have to replace the port," the doctor volunteered, stepping away from the door. He was a very young man that Ed didn't recognize. "There was too much damage to the existing one, so-"

Ed almost swore.

The military hospital had touched his automail.

Winry was going to kill him.

"Don't worry, Ed. We called in your usual mechanic."

Ed glanced back at Havoc, relief fading as he remembered what else he'd been told when he first woke up. "Where's Al?" Please let him have come back with me. Please don't let me have left him in the Gate -

The man's eyes remained bright, which meant he was hiding something. "Al is in another ward, Ed. He got shot."

Al . . . was shot? In the Gate?

No. They must have passed back through the Gate, then. And then –

And then back again, to get to Amestris.

Four years? How could he have forgotten four years?

Was this like when he'd resurrected Al, but the Al that had been trapped in the Gate since their failed transmutation? Had he paid for passage with his memories?

And if that was what he had paid . . . then what had Al sacrificed?

"Is he okay? Let me see him –" He was about to throw the sheet off the bed when he realized his leg hurt much like his arm, and probably for the same reason.

He couldn't walk.

He currently had no ports. Just the stumps. No way to attach an automail limb even if there was a spare lying around.

He couldn't perform alchemy, either. At least not without something to write with.

"He'll be fine, Ed. I'm afraid I woke you up for another reason."

His tone was still serious, and Ed stared at him a moment. The man shoved the notepad he'd been scribbling on in front of him.

"Do you recognize this?"

It was rough, but recognizable. A round, red ball, encased in a cross cage of steel, complete with a chain dangling off the top.

He knew his expression gave him away when Havoc lowered the drawing, and leaned in closer.

"You recognize it, don't you."

It couldn't be . . . how had it come back . . .

Had it come back with them?

Why in the world had they brought it, intact, back to Amestris? If they could perform alchemy, why hadn't they destroyed it? Did it have something to do with the reason Al had gotten shot?

"W-where is it now?"

Jean glanced at the doctor, who held up his hands placatingly and left the room. The moment the door had clicked closed, Havoc leaned back slightly, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

"Department of Research has it. Alchemists can't identify it, so Hakuro sent in a couple physicists."

Ed's blood ran cold.

Had they done this?

"Tell them to stop analyzing it, right now." If the physicists were the same kind here in Amestris as the ones on Earth, they were going to try to figure out a way to open it in a contained space, knowing it was under pressure –

And Central was going to go up in a mushroom cloud. Just as he and his father had seen when they'd passed through the Gate to Earth.

"What is it –"

"It's a bomb. A uranium bomb." The cat was out of the bag, there was no reason to hide it from him any longer. "According to Huskisson, the physicist that made it, it's destructive power is huge. It can destroy the entire city."

Havoc discarded his cigarette thoughtlessly, immediately reaching for the phone beside Ed's bed.

"Where'd it come from?"

Ed swallowed, suddenly glad he'd had nothing but that glass of water. "Here. It came from Amestris. It was transmuted through the gate by Huskisson when – when Al and I refused to bring it to the military's attention."

- x -

The hallway door opened swiftly, though it made no sound, and Sheska jumped to attention. Beside her, Denny and Maria were quick to notice both her reaction and who had entered the office.

"Major General, sir! We have news-"

He cut them off with the wave of his hand. "I know."

Sheska's first instinct was to relax. Obviously he'd been at the hospital when Al and Ed had both managed to explain what the device was, which was why he'd been hard to get ahold of. He had probably been foolishly using his own name to secure the device back to the military.

But he didn't look pleased. He was a hard man to judge, but right now he looked –

He looked like he had when he'd gone to visit Maes Hughes' widow.

Another door opened, and this time the colonel emerged. She opened her mouth, then immediately closed it again. They all just stared at him as he pulled off his uniform cap and shook off some water.

"Hakuro's physicists figured it out about two hours ago," he informed them. "I've just returned from an emergency meeting of Parliament and military. The Parliament will be voting on using the device for testing purposes on our northern border, in the Briggs Mountain range, as a warning and to confirm the destructive force. As of this moment, they don't believe the Elric brothers manufactured the bomb, and the physicists believe they can make another. Ed and Al are free to go as soon as they are released from physician care."

Sheska stared at him, then turned to the colonel. She was the first to accept the bad news, and simply asked, "What are your orders?"

He glanced around the office, seeming to really see them for the first time. All of his subordinates had been working around the clock to beat the research department, and she knew they all looked a little rough around the edges.

"Go home," he said quietly. "Take a few hours, get cleaned up. Return by 1200."

Then, without another word, he marched into his office, and pulled the door closed behind him.

Sheska looked back towards the colonel, whose expression was almost blank.

"You have your orders. Try to get some rest."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Longest chapter so far, but at least we've moved the plot forward, eh? I would guess it'll be two more parts, but I thought this thing was only going to be a few chapters, so I think I'll just stop while I'm ahead. Thank you, Silverfox, for pointing out the typos! I will go back and fix them immediately!

And this is pretty much the only other chance you guys'll get to suggest any other plotholes that need to be cleaned up – yet to be covered, how the Gate works in relation to the brothers, where Ed's arm and leg are, how Al's soul transmutation works . . . aaand I think that's it. I've gotten everything else I could think of. If you have anything that's been bugging you about the FMA anime universe, let me know and I'll see what I can do! As always, I apologize for the typos, and thank you all for the hits, faves, c2s, and reviews!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"I'm afraid you're not listening-"

The door crashed open, and Winry did her best not to jump. Considering she'd been nanoseconds from driving the screw into live bone, and it was going to be bad enough, the last thing she needed was to be imprecise because some asshole just scared the bejeezus out of her.

Beneath her hand, Ed flinched, but otherwise he didn't respond. Didn't even bother to open his eyes. He was braced and ready, and it was the last one. Of all the times to be interrupted –

Winry didn't say anything to the many sets of heavy boots she heard entering the room behind her. She just steadied herself. She had to do this now, unfortunately, and she hated to do it when Ed had an audience, but there wasn't much she could do about it if his physician hadn't been able to stop them.

Then again, he was exceedingly bad at stopping people. He hadn't managed to stop her, after all.

"There is an ongoing medical procedure in this room –"

"I'll wait." That voice she didn't recognize, but Edward's eyes flew open, and his expression was shocked.

"Major General Hakuro!" His voice was a little thick, but otherwise it sounded absolutely normal. Winry hesitated, the drill pressed into the small hole she'd bored through his skin and muscle. She could wait a few more seconds, but if any that blood was allowed to clot –

"That's General now, Full Metal," the unfamiliar voice corrected with a small amount of irritation. "We have some pressing questions that simply cannot wait-"

"Get out," Winry snapped. If it was military, it could damn well wait. Mustang knew better than to allow officers to come barging in while she was working –

General.

Hakuro.

The asshole that was running against Mustang in the Parliamentary elections. And someone that outranked him.

What the hell did he want? Had he somehow found out about the bomb?

"I need to finish this up immediately, and you're in my way," she continued, in her most dangerous voice. "Whatever you need to discuss can wait for five minutes. Dr. Patterson, please escort these officers back to the hallway outside."

"You must be Winry Rockbell, the automail mechanic," another voice sneered. "While I understand you're respected in your field-"

That was a refusal to leave if she'd ever heard one. "I'm sorry, Ed," she muttered between her teeth. He just dipped his chin, once.

Then she drove the final screw home.

She was not going to botch the installation of this port for some military pissing match.

He never made a sound. She had her other hand on his bare chest, steadying both him and herself, and felt his muscles contract as he clamped down on his breath. His jaw clenched so hard that she could hear his teeth creaking, just under the sound of her mechanical drill. He kept his eyes open, didn't even blink. He kept eye contact with presumably the general over her shoulder the entire time, and she finished as quickly as she could.

It was several seconds after she'd withdrawn the drill from his shoulder and inspected the head to ensure there was no blood leaking around it before he started to breathe again, and she noted that no one said a word. Whoever had been speaking to her had been quite effectively silenced.

It wasn't often you walked in on someone getting a screw driven into their body, literally. Maybe now they understood why Patterson had been keeping them out.

"That's the last one, Ed," she murmured, patting him with her right hand before withdrawing it from his chest. They could conceivably attach the automail arm right now, but she wasn't going to touch those nerves again until Ed had had some time to get accustomed to the new pain. And attaching weight to the port now, with it just installed –

He was going to have to really, really prove to her that he needed to use his alchemy that badly. That he was the only one that could do whatever it was that had to be done to that bomb. This was a rush job to begin with, and if she screwed up or he overused the limb, that was it. They couldn't cut the stump back any more without needing to just rip out his whole shoulder to give him range of motion again.

And she wasn't going to do that to him. It was bad enough that he lost the leg and arm like he did. She wasn't going to start tearing more chunks out of him.

"Then I take it you're finished?" the general inquired.

She turned, drill still in her left hand, and gave him her most withering look. "No," she said simply. "I haven't even started with his leg yet."

In actuality, she had no plans to attach that port to him today. She really should have given everything a full three days to recover, and his arm was still pretty angry from the surgery. His leg was also still a little inflamed, and she wasn't going to risk that port either, just so he could walk.

She'd carry him if she had to. But she did understand the importance of taking care of a bomb that could destroy the whole city. If he honestly was willing to risk that arm – permanently – then she would give him what he asked for.

There were three officers in the room with Dr. Patterson, and it was easy to identify the grey-haired general, even if she didn't know what the stripes and stars meant. The other two she didn't recognize, but obviously one of them had been the one insulting her.

Neither of them seemed willing to challenge her. Hakuro, on the other hand, was ignoring her altogether.

"Where did you get it, Edward Elric?"

Ed laughed. It was a little forced, and a little lower than she remembered his laugh, but it had all the attitude. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Hakuro. I've gotten all kinds of things from all kinds of place-"

"Don't get smart with me, major," the general snapped. "You have been asked a question by your superior, and you will answer!"

"My superior?" He curled his left arm behind his head, looking for all the world as though he was just reclining against the head of the bed. She knew moving his arm had to have pulled at the muscles she'd just finished driving metal screws through, and it had to have been extremely painful, but outside of a slight thinning of his lips he never gave it away.

"In what way are you my superior, Hakuro?" The men around the general bristled, but Ed just closed his eyes and appeared to relax. "I'm sure the records say I died in action four years ago, so I'm not a major, and you're not my superior officer. You're not an alchemist, so you're not my sensei. You're not my father, you're not even my equal in chess." His golden eyes opened, and they were full of an emotion she hadn't ever seen from Edward.

"You are still a National Alchemist! As such, you are bound by –"

"Doesn't a National Alchemist have to take an evaluation once a year to keep their title?"

Hakuro smirked. "Not under new Parliament law, no."

Ed nodded slowly. "I see, I see. That's too bad. I skipped mine the year before Parliament could have possibly abolished the requirement. If only I'd made the time to get it done then, I'd still have my title." The familiar, obnoxious, arrogant smile was back. "I guess I'll just have to sit for the exam again."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." The general's tone was cold. "I'll be sure to have you grandfathered in."

Ed nodded again. "That's very generous of you, General."

"I'll make it official the week before I banish the title from government service!"

Edward leaned forward, all pretenses gone, and Winry delicately removed herself from the bed, putting down the drill and standing at his side. He couldn't get up, which he clearly wanted to do, but he was probably going to try, and she'd probably have to punch him to make him see reason –

"Don't," she murmured to him, back to the officers. "You'll hurt yourself."

"You're awfully confident about this upcoming election, aren't you?" His smile was crawling more towards a smirk again.

"Now that I know what it was that you and your brother tried to give to Major General Mustang, I am," he agreed. "A powerful weapon indeed, and just in the nick of time. That's why I'm so certain pushing paperwork through to have your title reinstated will be simple. You've just rendered every alchemist in this country obsolete, Full Metal. Congratulations."

Edward regarded the general silently, and the man continued after a brief moment of gloating.

"From whom did you steal the bomb?"

"Winry."

She forced herself to look at him, watching his face for some sign that he wasn't about to say the stupid thing she knew was about to come out of his mouth –

"Don't worry about my leg for now. Let's just get the arm finished."

She had already explained to him – twice – why it was a bad idea. He was her friend, but foremost he was her customer. And she wasn't about to argue with him in front of others.

But oh, Edward, can't you see this is what he wants? To upset you? "I'll need to go and get it-"

He just nodded. "I'm certain the general and I will be finished when you get back."

She hesitated, then turned and did so, hurrying by the officers so they couldn't see her face.

"Stop her."

A hand closed around her arm, roughly, and Winry whirled on the man that had caught her.

"Tsk," he warned, when she raised her fist. "You wouldn't want to do that, Ms. Rockbell."

"Let go of me!"

"Where is his replacement limb, Ms. Rockbell?"

Edward was staring at her intently, and she figured out too late what he'd really been asking her to do.

The automail limb was in Al's room, where she'd been doing most of her work since Ed had been sedated. And Ed wanted her to go back there. To warn the other room that Hakuro was here. That when he was done with Edward, he was going to come for Al. They had to make sure he didn't really know what condition Al was truly in.

"In a storage locker," she snapped. "Dr. Patterson was allowing me to use the nurse's locker room since this ward was almost empty."

The young doctor, unlike her, seemed to have no trouble catching on. "There didn't seem to be any harm in it, General –"

Hakuro cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Gregor, go with her."

"Now, really!" Patterson had moved in front of the door. "I'm afraid I can't allow that. It's for the female personnel. If you have a female officer with you that's one thing, but he can't go in there."

"I don't think we really want the Full Metal Alchemist to be performing any alchemy so soon into his recovery," the general murmured. "I think it would be better if we confiscated that limb, just until he's been cleared by my private medical personnel. Lieutenant Gregor can accompany her as far as the door, and she will bring him the piece of automail in question."

Winry just glared at the lieutenant, who was large and would have reminded her of Alex Armstrong except he wasn't even slightly handsome, his bulk made him look like a gorilla, and nothing about him was charming. His hand easily wrapped around her upper arm, and she was pretty sure there wasn't much she could do about it. All she had in her overall pockets were the kinds of tools that would be required to beat a normal person.

This man was not a normal person.

And he was also a military officer. The last thing she wanted to do was get the colonel or any of the others in trouble.

Oh, and the major general had gotten her that pass . . . and it was still chained to her overalls. Currently the overall shoulderstraps were dangling in the way, but if General Hakuro noticed it –

She lessened her glare and looked back at Ed, who had abandoned his cocky look for one of anger. He was baring his teeth at the general.

"Let her go."

"Why did you try to send her away, Full Metal? And why are you being so uncooperative? Perhaps you are in too much pain." He looked past her at the doctor. "I believe the procedure we interrupted looked quite painful indeed. It would probably be best to sedate this patient and make him more comfortable-"

"I'm afraid I can't do that so soon after a port installation." Dr. Patterson's voice was firm. "You may be a general, and this may be a military hospital, but as far as care of patients are concerned, you have no jurisdiction. You shouldn't even be in here, and I shall file an incident report-"

"With no one," the other officer in the room growled. "As far as you're concerned, the general never made a visit."

Patterson looked between the officers a moment, and Winry remained still. If they really put Ed under a full sedation . . . shocking the already angry nerves that had just been pulled into the channels by using those kinds of drugs could result in diminished or no activity in the ends. After all this, the surgery and everything else, if they put him under a full, it might all have been for nothing.

Didn't Hakuro realize that was why you had to install automail on a conscious person? Or was it because of that . . .? Was he trying to permanently cripple Ed? Ensure he couldn't use alchemy . . ? That was ridiculous, he could always do it the old-fashioned way –

Or was he just threatening with it?

"It came from a place that's since been destroyed, along with all the research." It was Ed's voice, and it was quiet.

"Where?" The general's tone was . . . satisfied.

She could see why Mustang hated this man.

"A castle in the middle of a lake," Ed answered dully. "The physicist's name was Huskisson. He asked us there to present the bomb to the military."

"Find him." This was ordered to the officer that was not holding onto her, and he left the room immediately.

Once he was actually out the door, Ed picked up his head and looked at the general. "You won't find him. When Al and I told him no, he attempted human transmutation in an effort to get rid of us, and disappeared."

"So your brother Alphonse was with you?"

Ed nodded. "Not that he remembers. As you well know, since you tried to force him to sit for the same exam I did, at the same age." His eyes were hard beneath his golden bangs. "He knew he could never transmute the Philosopher's Stone. Rose told him. But you tried to make him a dog of the military, like me. I won't forgive you, Hakuro."

"Well, thanks to your efforts, it's a moot point," the general responded. "Physicists will be the new scientists of Amestris, and they can provide us with greater technology and rewards than ten thousand alchemists!"

"We'll see." Ed looked up calmly at the silver-haired general. "Were there any more questions?"

"Where was Huskisson's castle?"

"I don't remember. It's probably in my report on the subject."

"Perhaps I should ask your brother."

Ed didn't react at all. "If you want to continue wasting your time. Now let Winry go."

Hakuro considered this, then nodded sharply, and she was released with a rough shake.

Winry rubbed her arm, glaring at the gorilla before backing a few paces towards the door, as if just desperate to get some distance between her and him. Ed probably still wanted her to go warn the other room, even if he had convinced the general to leave Al alone –

"It was nice to speak with you again, Full Metal," the general murmured. "I think I'll give my regards to Alphonse before I leave."

"You know he doesn't remember." Ed's voice had a dangerous lilt.

"I just wanted to see how he's been getting on. I understand he was shot, and as a general of this army it is my duty to gain intelligence on the enemy that may someday walk through all these doors you so carelessly leave open."

Behind her, Winry felt the doorknob dig into the small of her back.

"Miss Rockbell, would you accompany me? I see you have a military pass, and I'm eager to learn why you would be considered an expert witness in a case involving someone without automail."

- x -

"The general's here?"

"Yes." Hawkeye's voice was grim. "He just left Ed's room, and he's heading for you."

Jean tapped his front teeth together, aching for a cigarette. All this time in the hospital being healthy was killing him.

"How did we find out?"

"Breda's friend Patterson."

"Orders?"

"Have Al pretend to be asleep. And do your best not to get court-marshaled. Ed can mouth off because he's not in the army."

"Oy, oy, I get it. Anything else?"

"Keep the Tringums out of prison, if possible."

"Aye."

Havoc hung up the phone, looking around the room. Fletcher was still asleep, his butt in a chair and his head laying on his arms on Al's bed. Al was watching him quietly, and Russell was busy making a show of laying out his alchemy ingredients.

"Don't want the dear general to get the wrong impression," he muttered when he realized Jean was staring at him.

Havoc just nodded, making eye contact with Al. "Hawkeye wants you to pretend to be asleep. I know it's all you've been doing lately, but give it a shot. If the general can see you can't talk back, he's going to prattle on all night."

Al seemed to understand, because he closed his eyes obediently. That done, Jean gave the room a once-over. Other than the transmutation circle they'd drawn around Al's bed, there wasn't much the general could have a problem with –

Rockbell's automail bits could be an issue.

"Oh, Russell?" He gestured vaguely at the dross and the actual limbs she'd made. "Where can we stash these?"

Russell looked over the various tools, scraps of metal, and the two gleaming limbs themselves. "He'd look in the closet, huh."

"Yeah, he's a real peach," Havoc muttered. "And Winry wasn't supposed to be allowed back here. They could drum up trespassing charges if they felt like it."

Russell glanced around, then made a face, and broke out a piece of chalk. "Go stall 'em, would you?"

Havoc gave a long-suffering sigh. "Why is that always the order? Havoc, go stall Rockbell. Havoc, go stall the general that hates you. Havoc, why don't you have a girlfriend yet . . ."

Still griping good-naturedly, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started down the hallway. He could already see the general's party at the end, with one Winry Rockbell being flanked by possibly the largest soldier Jean had ever seen.

Excluding Armstrongs.

This was gonna be great.

They secured entrance before he could actually meet them at the checkpoint, so he stood in the center of the hallway and waited for them. He wasn't sure what Russell was up to, but it probably included alchemy and hiding things in the ceiling or something. He'd give the kid enough time to get his pretty picture drawn, but he couldn't buy much else.

He saluted smartly, and General Hakuro gave him a sour smile. "You are hereby relieved of duty, Lieutenant Colonel. Take the night off."

Jean nodded, rubbing the back of his neck briskly. He hadn't gotten permission to be at ease, but he wasn't going to sweat the small stuff. "That's very generous of you, General," he replied cheerfully. "But per pending military investigation policy, an officer needs to be present to oversee the checkpoint enlisted-"

"Lieutenant Gregor will serve in that stead," the general cut him off, with a much less friendly tone.

Havoc nodded agreeably, then paused. "Oy, but, General? In a pending military investigation, all the serving officers are recorded prior to the investigation to prevent information leaks. Is Lieutenant Gregor on that list?"

General Hakuro's eyes flashed. "He can be added."

Havoc saluted. "Yes, General sir, but doesn't it have to be on paper prior to his taking the post? I'd be happy to wait if it meant I got the rest of the night off, General."

Hakuro stared at him, and Jean chanced a grin. "Don't tell me the general is still sore about six years ago? It wasn't your fault, you thought your opponent was Brigadier General Mustang and if he had been, I'm sure you'd have trounced us-"

"I did not give you permission to speak freely, Lieutenant Colonel!"

Havoc deliberately snapped to attention, saluting. "Aye, general sir! The general did not, sir! I apologize for my manner, sir!"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't taking your promotion seriously," Hakuro observed.

Threaten my promotion, is that the best you can do? But he carefully remained silent. If nothing else, staring the general down was buying the Tringums time to do their thing. And he'd gotten practice trying to stare down Black Hayate.

"Get out of my way, Lieutenant Colonel."

He turned 45 degrees and took two steps back, then fell in line as their party passed. Gregor the large soldier gave him a black look, and Winry ignored him entirely. Her shoulders were tense, and her hands were wrapped in graceful fists.

Hawkeye hadn't mentioned Hakuro had found the pass.

They proceeded without further incident to Al's room, which was more than large enough to allow them all as much standing room as they liked. True to his word, Russell had made the metal – and the automail – vanish as though it had never been. There wasn't even an extra circle on the floor.

Of course, the sides of his boot looked suspiciously covered with chalk dust, but since there was a chalk circle drawn around Alphonse's bed, it could be easily explained away.

Russell stood protectively in front of Al, and at some point Fletcher had woken up. Neither looked pleased to see the general, but both managed amicable enough greetings.

"How is your patient?"

"He's not technically our patient," Russell pointed out. "As you know, we're alchemists, not doctors. But that said-"

"No, that's enough," the general interrupted. "If you're not doctors, then you're visitors."

Russell pulled out the heavy cardstock pass, which he'd had in his back pocket. "We were asked by the military to lend assistance-"

"And so you have. He looks quite well for someone near death, wouldn't you say?"

It was true; Alphonse was bared down to almost his waist, and the marks on his neck and chest were now invisible. Havoc wasn't sure they were really doing the poor man any more good, but there was certainly no doubt their efforts had saved his skin when nothing else was going to.

"He still needs some work," Fletcher spoke up, before his brother could respond. "His internal injuries are harder to see, but they're still there."

"I'm sure it's not beyond the talents of Dr. Patterson. Consider yourselves relieved of your responsibilities here. And congratulations on a job well done. I understand Alphonse Elric would have died without your help."

Russell looked as though he wanted to say something, but he just bowed his head. "Thank you, General." Fletcher didn't follow his brother's lead, and Hakuro smiled indulgently at him.

"You may turn your security passes into the checkpoint when you've gathered your things. Again, you have Amestris' thanks."

The general strode past them, looking down at Al. "My, but he's gotten much older, hasn't he?" He sounded surprised.

He really did, and it sort of weirded Havoc out at the same time. Right after he'd last spoken with that armor, in Resembool, there had been a great many things happening all at once. Al's kidnapping, Ed's rescues, Al's sacrificing his body – which was the Stone – to resurrect his brother, and then Ed turning around and doing it right back.

What they'd ended up with was a ten year old Alphonse, who had looked almost exactly like Edward the first time he'd seen that kid. They should have had a much older Al, and it was weird interacting with the kid he'd come to know as a poker player and an immovable combat force, only younger, without any of those memories.

But still, so much like he had been . . . he'd sort of seen Al grow up both with and without Ed, and he'd really turned out to be the same guy. Good. A little too naïve, maybe, but a good kid.

Only he'd aged more than four years after the Thule Invasion. He looked to be the same age as Ed did, which would put him at his real age, twenty-two.

Why had his body aged? And when that had happened, did he get back the memories he'd lost? Which Al was the one in there, the one that couldn't talk, couldn't move? Couldn't even tell them what he'd done?

Had something happened when they were coming through the . . . the gate-thing? They'd assumed all this damage was from the bullet wounds, but what if it was something . . . something weirder than that?

"Much taller, too," Havoc observed. He wasn't really sure how much verbal abuse Al was willing to take. He'd been pretty stressed out, considering he'd known all along that Central might be in the process of blowing itself up while they tried to help him talk.

"Has he been standing?" The general was looking at him now. Which was good, and bad. Lie and say he was better off than he was, or tell the truth and say he couldn't get out of bed? Obviously the general wasn't trying to actually kill Alphonse or Ed; he was trying to get other alchemists away from them. Probably just to slow down their recoveries enough that his test on the bomb could go off without a hitch.

After all, Hakuro knew that Mustang couldn't make a move, not and stay in the running for the Prime Minister's seat. The only ones that could risk it would be National Alchemists like Tringum and Armstrong, or the Elrics themselves.

Ah. That was why he was hassling Winry Rockbell, too. If Ed couldn't walk, he couldn't do anything about the bomb. The general just wasn't sure about Al's condition.

So in this case, honesty probably would be the best policy.

"No, sir," he answered quickly. "It's just, he seems longer than his brother. Perhaps it is a trick of the rooms, since they are not side by side."

Hakuro seemed to have expected a smart-ass remark, because he analyzed it for quite some time without being able to find anything to get offended about.

"We'll take care of the paperwork tomorrow," he said coldly, returning to the door. Obviously he'd decided if Al couldn't get up now, it was unlikely he was going to tomorrow. "Remain on duty until then, Lieutenant Colonel. Once the Tringums have gathered their – things, please escort them off the premises."

He saluted, but he waited a beat to make sure the general knew he wasn't happy about the order. That seemed to satisfy him; he turned to Winry Rockbell.

"This man doesn't appear to need your services, Miss Rockbell."

She hesitated. "I was –"

"Perhaps they thought he was going to lose an arm, but the Winding Tree Alchemist was able to repair it?"

She faltered, letting her gaze drop.

"Edward Elric has no memory of what happened to his automail, sir." If honesty was the best policy, surely he could pull something out of his . . . ear . . . "Alphonse does. Winry Rockbell is here to interview Al and determine if there are going to be any psychological repercussions should Ed regain his memory, in relation to the torture he suffered at the hands of the enemy."

Then he clamped his mouth shut. That was thin. It might have been the reasoning Mustang had used to get her the pass, but it was thin.

"Alphonse has knowledge of the enemy?"

Oops. "In the few brief periods of wakefulness he's managed, he's given us some base information." That wasn't a total lie. Apparently he'd spelled out the word 'bomb.'

"Perhaps it would be best to wake him now, while we're here," the general pondered. "I don't recall seeing any reports from the Major General regarding this information."

"I doubt he will be coherent," Russell stated, from the foot of the bed. "He's been given painkillers to help him rest. Perhaps you should return tomorrow to interview him."

The general looked as though he wanted to say something, and Fletcher looked as though he wanted to kick him. Neither was a particularly good idea.

"I agree with the Winding Tree Alchemist, sir," he volunteered, just to irritate the man. Then he turned to face Russell. "If you would please gather your things, sir, I will escort you to the lobby."

While he knew he didn't have the ability to dismiss the general, his words seemed to spur the man into action.

"I agree. By then Lieutenant Gregor's paperwork will be through, and we can guarantee his safety from whatever enemy may be pursuing him. Lieutenant Colonel, make sure to notify the nurse's station that all updates on his condition will now be sent directly to my office."

Since Patterson was their ace in the hole, that wasn't as bad as it could have been. "Of course, sir."

"Ms. Rockbell, due to the sensitivity of military matters, your interviews will have to wait until our investigation has been completed. I understand this might delay refitting the Full Metal Alchemist with his automail, but I promise our investigation will be swift."

She didn't say much of anything. She was probably wondering what the hell they'd done with the automail she'd worked so hard on the last three days.

Mustang was going to have his liver for breakfast after this. Oy.

"Do not allow anyone to dally, Lieutenant Colonel. Alphonse Elric needs his sleep."

Havoc just saluted, waiting until the general and his very large soldier's footsteps were quite far down the hallway before he relaxed.

They all exchanged looks, and then almost as one they glanced at Al.

Al had his eyes open, and if Jean didn't know better, he'd say they looked hopeless.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Dragging on and on . . . okay. Now the stage really IS set. Hakuro is ready to sweep Mustang's plans under the rug, the boys are all but screwed, and some of Amestris' neighbors to the north are about to get nuked. Remember, though, I said everything was going to come up roses . . . and it will! Glowing ones, with little tentacles . . . Kidding. Thank you guys so much for all the lovely reviews! :cuddles them and loves them and feeds them leftover baked chicken: I've done a read-through, and I noticed all kinds of embarrassing things, so again, I apologize that I've missed a few of them!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Russ?"

He didn't look at his brother. He wasn't actually looking at anyone. It was more an unfocused glare at the floor, left over from his bow as the general had taken leave.

Hakuro had come in and removed them from . . . access to Al, really. It wasn't as though he was purposefully trying to damage Alphonse. Presumably he'd done the same with Ed. He was trying to get Mustang's people – and alchemists – away from the Elrics, at least until the Parliament voted.

He was afraid. The question was why. What was he so afraid of.

First things first. Was everyone all right? No one had been threatened, but Winry Rockbell looked a little shaken –

She didn't seem hurt. She was hurrying over to the bedside, and Al was watching her. Without missing a beat, she knelt by his right hand, fishing under the mattress.

For her 'bionics.' To get Al's input.

Okay. Second thing would be . . . determine the problem.

Hakuro was afraid . . .they'd somehow stop the bomb test? Or the vote? The problem was the bomb.

Oh, but the problem was so much bigger. If it proved to be a huge success in the North – where they'd made little progress, even in the last four years – there would be a call for more of them. If Hakuro was actually elected, he could use that to pull funds from alchemists and give them to physicists.

Was this really about money, though? Or was it about saving lives?

Because if an Amestris physicist had made the bomb, like Havoc had said, then they could make another. If the test was stopped, if the bomb was stolen or destroyed –

Someone would eventually make another.

And no matter how observant they were, they could never actually prevent that kind of thing. If Amestris didn't do it, and one of their neighbors got hold of the idea or the specs the Research Department had already made -

So the problem wasn't the bomb. The problem was the concept itself. Even though it was obvious Hakuro was afraid they were going to sabotage the attempt, ultimately all it would do is buy them a few months.

So unless the Elric brothers could travel through time, this was over.

Okay. Main issue cannot be fixed. It must be accepted. They couldn't do anything about the bomb, at least not permanently.

Second problem – Al still couldn't move.

If they were really barred from caring for him at this point . . . but what could he try in one night? Even if Havoc disobeyed the order and let them stay, what could they do in one night that they hadn't been able to do in four days?

Why couldn't he move?

Russell finally glanced towards Fletcher, finding his brother sitting among their pretty piles of ingredients, staring at the various transmutation circles they'd designed. They had everything you could ever need to make another human body – they couldn't actually make him a new body, of course, once his soul left it and it ceased to be alive the process would become human transmutation, but frankly, all the healing alchemic arts were already pushing that envelope . . .

So long as the tissue was alive before the process was begun, and there was a mind and soul in the body, it was just really, really complicated molecular reconstruction. No different than manipulating a living plant. The same systems. Vascular, to carry liquids. Muscular, to support the cells and stature. Skeletal, like the cell walls themselves.

Humans weren't so different from plants.

Only they were. Plants didn't have souls you could accidentally dislodge as you forced new matter to occupy the place of the old. No one really knew how the soul was affixed to the body. It wasn't like Edward could come in here and rip off Al's head and draw a blood seal on the inside of his neck.

Human bodies didn't work that way.

Could they keep his body alive while he put his soul into something else? Or did he no longer have that ability? That would at least grant Alphonse the ability to briefly tell them what had happened, wouldn't it?

But if he couldn't move, could he perform alchemy?

Why hadn't they thought of it before?

But who was to say Al knew what the matter with him was?

At least he could tell them if he was in pain. The healing process shouldn't have hurt him. Maybe if he told them of something else he'd been exposed to. A poison, maybe, or some other kind of injury. Both he and Fletcher knew there was something wrong with him, something internal they couldn't pinpoint. Maybe it was really that simple.

"Al."

Winry had nearly finished placing the contraption on Al's hand again, and the young man's eyes flickered to his.

"Al, were you poisoned?"

He moved to shake his hand, and Winry tsked. "Hang on, almost done."

"Russell?"

He glanced again at Fletcher. "There's something wrong with his body, Fletcher. We've only got one more chance to fix it before . . . before the vote is in, at any rate." After all, what was their hurry? Even if Winry couldn't get Ed outfitted with the automail this evening, once the Parliament voted on the bomb test . . . it didn't really matter.

"Then again, I suppose there's no rush. Oy, I mean, other than to get Al better," he added quickly. "Havoc, I don't think we'll be able to help Mustang out. Even if we managed to stop the bomb test-"

The blonde lieutenant colonel was rubbing the back of his neck. "How tiring." He walked over to the phone and began dialing. "Still, give it a shot. Maybe there's something else he can tell us about the bomb that'll make things clearer."

"Al, do you think you can transmute?"

Winry withdrew her hands, and the odd, silver mechanical fingers were waved in a motion parallel with the surface of the bed.

No.

So much for transmuting a piece of his soul into something.

Then again, he wasn't sure those somethings could talk, but it stood to reason that they could, considering it had only been his soul in that armor all this time . .

"Were you poisoned?" Fletcher sounded almost hopeful. If they at least knew where to look –

Another lateral motion. No.

Then his mechanical fingers touched his metal thumb. They released, and touched it again. It wasn't fast enough to be a tap, but it was obvious what he was asking for.

A pencil.

Winry had already made the leap, handing him chalk and smoothing the sheets before placing a sheet of paper over them.

"Where's Ed's automail?"

"In the floor," he responded, then it occurred to him that she probably wanted it at some point. "Winry, if it's going to hurt him, you shouldn't put it on him tonight. I don't think there's anything we can do-"

"I can't get the port and leg on by tomorrow morning, anyway," she interrupted him softly, watching Al's imprecise marks slowly appear on the paper. "Even if I gave him the arm, he couldn't go anywhere. Not without crutches, or someone carrying him."

Havoc began a quiet conversation, and Russell ignored it. Al was definitely trying to tell them something. From this angle, it looked sort of like he was drawing a bisected tree trunk, but only half of one. Obviously it was half a circle, but the inner line was too shaky to make out –

Half a transmutation circle?

Fletcher moved in, staring with fascination at the circle. "Okay, Al, I get it," he said suddenly. "It's a multi-cornered circle. How many?"

Al apparently wrote a number, and Fletcher frowned. "I can't make out any of the internal symbols. Can you draw a few, bigger?"

Al waved his hand, and Winry replaced the sheet of paper. They had more than enough ingredients to make as many as necessary, though he didn't figure it was going to take the man reams to draw out the circle he'd apparently used in his transmutation to get home.

Al drew three symbols, then set down the chalk. But all three of them were oddly swirled, not the precise lines he'd expected. He couldn't make out a single one. Fletcher didn't have any luck, either, because he held the sheet of paper in front of Al's face.

"Al, did you draw these right?" he asked. Tact was not one of his strong points, but the frustration Al was so clearly feeling was deeply bothering him. They'd always been closer than he and Ed, probably because of the circumstances of their meeting. It only made sense they'd slip into the same camaraderie now.

They'd both just been boys. Only kids.

They'd all only been kids.

Really, really smart kids. How could they, even with Red Stone, have not been able to fix Al? And why had it taken so much of the Red Stone just to heal the damage from two bulletwounds? Originally he'd thought it was because of the massive blood loss and tissue damage, and it had been extensive, but even after that, there'd been something . . . off. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

Al shook his hand all over.

Okay, so the right symbols, but they didn't recognize them. Al waved his hand again, and Winry gave him another sheet of paper.

This time, he drew a single symbol, and it was one he knew well. All alchemists did, even those just starting their training.

There were three steps in alchemy. Understanding, decomposition, and recomposition. They were all represented in the beginning texts as separate, single characters.

He had drawn the second one.

But apparently it wasn't that simple, if he'd drawn out those other three symbols . . .

The only alchemists he could be sure would recognize them in the immediate area were Ed and Mustang. And since they couldn't bring Ed into the room –

"Lieutenant colonel?"

Jean raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Apparently he was listening to the voice on the other end.

"Get Major General Mustang here as soon as possible." If for any reason this had something to do with the Philosopher's Stone, it was possible Roy Mustang would know. He had the dubious reputation of being the most knowledgeable alchemist still living that knew the details of the transmutation of the famed Philosopher's Stone that had apparently been created when Lior had been invaded.

He might recognize these symbols from his time with the Elric brothers, before Ed had vanished.

Once Winry left the room, she couldn't come back. None of them could. But Havoc could probably walk back and forth all night . . .

The lieutenant colonel hung up the phone, then made a face. "He'll be here when he can."

Good enough. They had all night. "I know it isn't your job, but can you show these pieces of paper to Ed? He might know what Al's trying to tell us." If nothing else, Ed might be able to guess how it was that they returned to this world with these symbols . . . even if he didn't remember.

Jean nodded slowly, but was frowning. "Do you really want to wind him up? If it's something serious and he can't be part . . ."

Good point. They could always wait and see what the Flame Alchemist thought before bringing Ed into this.

Winry was sitting beside Al, resting one hand on his blanketed knee, and as he watched, it curled into a fist.

"We can't do that to Edward right now," she told them softly. "He . . . he . . . needs to be a part of things. He's been trying to remember." She fell quiet for a moment, and when she looked up again, her expression was thoughtful. "You hid my automail in the floor, right?"

Oh, he needed to get that out. He was reaching for a piece of chalk when she stopped him.

"So there's no more scrap metal in here."

"It's all in the floor too."

"And the cart I was using to haul it in here?"

What was she getting at? "It's across the hall."

"I have an idea, but . . . Mr. Havoc, I'll need your help."

- x -

His eyes snapped open as something heavy collided with the outside of his door, and bright light flooded the room as it was shoved unceremoniously ajar. Blearily, he realized he'd been asleep, and he thoughtlessly reached up to rub his face –

Stabbing, dull pains reminded him he couldn't use his right arm anymore. Not yet, at any rate. Besides, he didn't need to rub his eyes to figure out who would have entered so rudely.

It meant she'd reconsidered installing his arm tonight.

It meant something was wrong.

"Winry?"

She hurried in, looking none the worse for wear from her encounter with Hakuro's man. Yet still, just the memory of it sent a cold band of iron through his blood, and all thoughts of his own weariness evaporated like ether.

I won't forgive you for that, either, Hakuro.

Even if the threat was silent. Even if Winry hadn't picked it up, he had. And Hakuro had known he would.

Stay out of the general's way, or something terrible could happen to Winry Rockbell.

As if he'd allow something like that to happen to her.

She didn't answer him, just flipped on the light and approached the bed. Winry was clearly anxious, but also oddly – businesslike. She took in his probably dark expression without comment. Now that the door had been thrown open, he could hear the sounds of something heavy, on wheels, trundling down the hallway towards them. Was it somehow related to his automail? Was she really going to reattach his arm? How had she hidden it from the general?

But hadn't she said that the Tringums were treating Al? Maybe they'd helped her hide it. And that was terribly ironic. He'd have to tell Russell that he'd returned the favor and become the famous Dr. Russell Tringham on the other side of the Gate. The younger man would probably get a kick out of it.

Hmm. He'd have to ask him, too, if he'd been using the Elric name during his absence. Probably not, since the rumors of his disappearance would have made it difficult to do so without making a huge fuss. Clearly Hakuro had known he'd returned four years ago, during the Thule Invasion, so at least the highest military echelon knew he'd turned up.

Then again, that only made sense. How else would they secure Central against another invading force like the Thules if they hadn't been privy to the details on how it had arrived in the first place?

If that was the case, it probably wouldn't have been a good idea to pull out the Elric name. It was likely to end him up in a prison cell. Which is apparently what had happened the last time -

"How heavy did you make this automail?" he muttered, when she pulled the blanket off him. He was wearing nothing more than the light blue cotton shorts given patients in hospitals, but the only other person currently walking into the room was Havoc, so he didn't really mind.

He had so much dirt on that guy, it wasn't even funny. That they'd behave that way around a thirteen year old! Aunt Pinako would have had them scrubbing the floors with their tongues if she had known half the things Mustang's troops had taught him in the few years he'd served in the military.

Jean, however, was apparently quite surprised at the familiarity with which Winry moved around him. He blinked, then slowly turned red.

"The cart's not for the automail, blockhead," she said simply, untucking the bottom sheet around the bed. "It's for you."

"What kind of girl are you?" Havoc murmured from the doorway, as she carelessly threw the corner of the bedsheet over Ed's leg.

Ed gave her a quizzical look. "Oy, Winry?"

"We're taking you to Al's room."

In a cart?

"What happened? Is he alright?"

Hakuro had just been there.

"Winry!" If Hakuro had done anything to Al -

The woman finally stopped bustling, looking straight into his face. Her cheeks were burning, a sure sign that she was feeling guilty about something. "Al drew some symbols, they have something to do with why he . . . why he can't really move, Ed." She averted her gaze, further giving herself away. "There's something wrong with him. Something besides the bullet wounds."

She'd known that all this time. The hours they spent not talking while she'd worked on the port -

He sat up on his own, ignoring the sharp pain across the right side of his chest. It was deep. He didn't remember it hurting down to his lungs the last time, but then again, he'd been a little kid. Something about that pain made his chest want to crawl away from the port, but he wasn't giving it much thought. As little as it was, in comparison to what he remembered feeling in the hallway, it was still exhausting him. That pain . . . he'd never felt anything like it. Hawkeye had been kneeling over him, holding his face and speaking, and he literally couldn't hear her, because it hurt so overwhelmingly -

Winry'd at least told him what she thought had happened to the previous automail. Her theory, and that brief span of time he'd been conscious to experience it - he was probably better off not remembering.

But at the same time, he couldn't remember how they got here. Where they found the bomb, the years he and Al had finally been . . . together. Al in his real body. Four years of his life were simply – gone.

What if they'd studied more alchemy? What if they'd tried something they'd discovered in those four years to get back, and he didn't know what the symbols meant?

Then he'd just have to figure them out.

"Is he-"

"He's fine, Ed," Havoc jumped in from the doorjamb. "He's . . . well, he's not fine, but he's not in pain. The rush is because-"

"Of Hakuro." He heard the growl in his voice, and he tempered it with effort. Which would probably actually freak Havoc out, considering as a child he'd never bothered to hide his emotions. "And the bomb. I heard. He wants to test it, become the Prime Minister, and eliminate National Alchemists from practicing in the military."

Havoc looked slightly surprised. "More than I heard, anyway," he muttered. "You don't remember what happened, so only Alphonse was held per the military investigation. He can't have visitors, so-"

"So you're going in the cart instead of slag metal," Winry finished. "Since your title is Fullmetal, I thought it would be appropriate."

He glared at Winry halfheartedly, but wiped it off his face when she came to the left side of the bed, and gently lifted his arm.

"Let me pull your weight up, Ed, or you'll hurt your leg," she murmured, tucking her head beneath his arm. Despite her build, he knew she was strong. She'd been a strong little girl, and a strong teenager.

Now she was a woman. She was twenty-one, and she was grown. Her frame was still slight, but her muscles were like . . . well, like automail. She had him heaved off the bed entirely before he could get his right foot on the floor.

Clearly Havoc was impressed, because he didn't say anything even bordering on inappropriate, he just moved to help.

He'd probably already hit on her and gotten beaten in the head with something.

Ed clenched his jaw as they shifted him, and he rotated himself on his heel to sit on the edge of the large, dumpster-like cart they'd secured. The remnants of his left leg felt . . . cold. Waving it around in the air pulled on it in a way he hadn't felt in such a long time, and it was getting harder to push those memories away.

"Get the sheet off the bed, so he has something clean to lay on," Winry instructed, and Havoc immediately obeyed. As soon as he'd laid it out, she gave Ed a lopsided smile.

"Sorry about this."

Then she abruptly leaned down, and yanked his right leg up into the air.

He tumbled backwards, landing hard square on his back in the cart. Pain reverberated through his angry right shoulder, and for a second, he was too surprised to say anything. She'd probably done it because the sides were high and she didn't want him hitting his unprotected leg stump, but couldn't she have given him some warning –

She leaned over the edge of the cart, and her face was shadowed, and so reminiscent of sensei's that he literally fought the urge to cringe back into the bottom of the cart.

"If you even think of sacrificing yourself to make Al better, I will come through that Gate to get you," she seethed. "And when I get ahold of you, automail will be the _least_ of your concerns! You came back here, you came home. You're not leaving again, and neither is he. Got it?"

Not even waiting for a response, she tossed some hard, stained canvas on top of him, and the cart began to trundle away.

Ed was quiet for a long moment, letting his right shoulder calm from the sudden impact it had received. It was nothing like what it might have been if she hadn't installed the port – the nerves themselves were completely oblivious to the impact. It was the bone and muscle she'd attached the port to that were having the problem with the rough treatment.

And she yelled at him for not being careful! These wounds were going to get infected from that –

The cart was hot, and smelled of copper strongly. It reminded him of blood, and he used his left arm to push himself away from the sides, shifting awkwardly. In the end, he was able to get his back a little flatter on the bottom, and by folding his right leg where his left ought to have been, he ended up laying pretty straight. It had been a long time since he'd been without both limbs, not since –

Not since his father had replaced them.

He'd done a good job, considering the tools and limited knowledge of the country. Actually, that wasn't fair; they had flying machines, liquid fueled rockets capable of shooting past the atmosphere of the planet. But the finer points of automail had been completely lost, as had the powerful springs, the suspension system, the nerve connections –

Again, a piece of ice stabbed into his chest, and Ed took a deep, steadying breath. It had been hard, not giving it away to Winry. Something about the idea of that port going back on bothered him. And even if the military on Earth had done what she thought they'd done, why would he . . . why would it bother him, if he couldn't remember?

But she'd been very careful. Very professional. He'd asked about Aunt Pinako, about the town, what had happened since he'd left, and she'd made as much small talk as could be made during the procedure. She hadn't held herself away from him, either. It was just like she'd been when he'd landed, when the rocket Alfonse had built had smashed apart, and he'd tried to get up.

Winry was really an automail mechanic. She'd moved on. She'd stopped waiting for him, as proven by the fact that she'd had to make new limbs for him.

She hadn't expected him to come back.

He closed his eyes, relaxing his neck and letting the jostling of the cart rock him freely. Coming back now . . . what sort of life was she leading, before their arrival had turned it upside down again? He'd left her without a goodbye, hadn't had a chance, but then again, he'd left her before like that. Every time, without a goodbye, without a call or a gift, and every time walking back in and expecting her to drop everything.

He hadn't . . .meant to do that to her, had he? Had they been trying to come back? He knew when he left that he'd been focused on closing the gate Eckhart had opened, and after that the bomb, but –

He hadn't figured he ever could come back. Not without risking Amestris. Not without help from the homunculus, without help from someone from here. Al had opened the Gate from this side, and it had been his father's blood that had triggered the alchemic reaction on Earth –

But wouldn't any life? It didn't have to be the blood of an alchemist, did it?

They couldn't have transmuted the Philosopher's Stone on Earth, could they have? He still remembered the horrors lurking in the future of Europe, of that entire world . . . the fields of gas, and touch-sensitive bombs –

Had there been another war? Was that how they came back? Drawing their circle on the blood and death of others?

Ed squeezed his eyes shut tightly, taking slow, deep breaths. Could he not remember because it had been . . . something horrible? What if the Gate hadn't taken his memories? What if he'd chosen to forget them?

No. Al wouldn't have let them do that. Surely they wouldn't have been desperate enough to do that –

The cart shuddered around a corner, and he could dimly hear words.

"Ah, you thought you'd try your luck one more time, Miss Rockbell?"

"You know we can't let you pass . . ."

She laughed; the sound was oddly high-pitched. "Oh! The general spoke to you?"

"I'm really sorry, ma'am, but you need to turn in your security badge. Maybe when they come out you can catch them at home."

Ed lay quite still beneath the canvas, trying not to breathe too much for fear they'd see the wrinkled canvas moving up and down. General Hakuro had taken away Winry's visiting privileges? If they looked in the cart-

"Oh, don't be so uptight," Jean drawled. "The patient is out for the night, it isn't like she's going to overhear anything she shouldn't. Let her get one more batch done."

"Please, just this once?" Winry was really turning it on for them. He'd never heard her sound so . . . so much like a girl in his life. "You just have no idea how convenient it is! And Ed won't need his new arm until tomorrow, so I thought I'd start on another one of my customers!"

. . . what on earth was she talking about? What had she been hauling in this cart? Hadn't she said slag metal?

"But . . ." The voice seemed to be debating it. "Lieutenant Colonel, you understand. It came from the general himself-"

"And the general is already at home, because he can't interview the patient in this ward," Havoc reminded the guard.

There was a brief silence, in which Ed expected Winry was doing her wide-eyed look. Assuming she still had one of those.

"Well . . . once more wouldn't hurt, I suppose."

A pregnant pause.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," the other voice finally agreed. "Don't tire those alchemists out too much. They're supposed to be packing up their things."

"Oy, alchemists are lazy though, aren't they?" Havoc murmured, now on the opposite side of the cart. "They get all these privileges, and I've watched them playing with chalk and drawing pictures for three days. I could have been watching my sister's kids instead."

More laughs, then a much softer "Lieutenant Colonel, do you know why General Hakuro was here?"

The cart continued forward, apparently now being pushed only by Winry, as Havoc stayed behind to give the soldiers the latest gossip. And probably take a cigarette break. The soldier's voices got further and further away until they were lost beneath the rumbling wooden wheels, and still she pushed him. He was about to tap on the side of the cart and ask where they were going when the cart came to a stop, and the canvas was withdrawn.

"Winry-"

"Shh." She glanced over her shoulder. "The general took my military pass, so it's only luck that got us back in."

She disappeared briefly, then the cart was yanked to the side, and a familiar, albeit much older and less round, face appeared over the lip of it.

"Hi, Ed!" the young man stage-whispered, waving enthusiastically. "Sorry I didn't come visit, we were busy."

Not that he would have remembered if the younger of the Tringum brothers had visited, considering he'd apparently been sedated since the surgery –

The cart was pulled into a room that sounded a great deal bigger than his, and soon another familiar face appeared over the edge.

"Geez, Winry. Did you just dump him in here?" Russell gave him a once-over, critically, then rubbed his chin. "I'm surprised he fit so well . . ."

Ed blinked, cocking his head to the side in disbelief. Any thoughts that he was uncomfortable with what he was – or wasn't – wearing ground to a screeching halt. "Who's so small they can fit in the bottom of a thimble ? !"

Fletcher's face shrank away from the edge. "He didn't say that-"

"Yep. Same Edward Elric." Russell Tringum extended his hand into the cart. "Good to see you again, Full Metal."

Ed glowered at the man before accepting the outstretched hand, and once he was hauled up enough to get his right leg under him, he stood, leaning against the inside of the cart. Russell left the cart to go get something – privately he hoped it was a spare pair of pants – and Ed took a look around.

The room was huge. And bright. It had obviously been meant for a patient with a lot of extra equipment, and more than half of that space was taken up by tables of ingredients, chalk, half-sketched drawings, and a bed.

Al.

Al was laying quite still, flat on his back. He was – he was so much older. Winry had warned him that Al seemed to have aged more than she remembered, but he was . . . was years too old. So much older than the literally kid brother he'd left struggling frantically in Roy Mustang's arms.

He was going to have to have a talk with Mustang at some point. Letting Al come back on that rocket –

"Al!"

Al's eyes swiveled in his direction, and immediately closed. When they opened again, they were a cross between reproachful, relieved, and something else that Ed couldn't recognize without the rest of a facial expression.

Of course. His arm. If they'd come back together, then Al knew what had happened to him. In fact, if that pain was any indication of how he'd been feeling just prior to arriving, it was probable Al had done the transmutation by himself. Ed wasn't sure he could have put in the necessary concentration or control required to do anything related to alchemy in that state.

Had this been a rescue mission? Had they had literally no other place to run?

"He can't really move or talk," Russell noted in a quiet voice, coming back to stand directly beside him. "But he's still in there. We were initially treating him for the bullet wounds, but there's something else not quite right." The man offered him something – not the wished-for clothes. Instead, he held out a couple pieces of paper.

"What do you make of these?"

Ed took them from Russell, tearing his gaze off his brother and leaning his right hip on the cart to keep himself from falling over. The first picture was a poorly drawn transmutation circle border, with several jagged lines for the inner curve. Beside it was a great-than sign.

No.

A seven.

The jagged line was meant to show the corners.

Al had drawn a seven-pointed transmutation circle?

But . . . why would he have done that when he knew what it was for –

Ed folded it behind his middle finger and offered the bent edge to Russell, who figured out that Ed couldn't handle both at the same time, and took it from him. Then Ed looked over the next one.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he realized he'd stopped breathing.

"We didn't recognize those," Russell was saying, "but all the work you did with the Ishbal people made me think it was the Great Art –"

And he would be right.

Those three symbols made up the center of the design Scar had had on his brother's arm.

"I think they're related to deconstruction, because that was the fourth symbol he gave us," Russell finished. He was looking at Edward quite hard, but Ed ignored him.

A decomposition.

And a seven-pointed transmutation circle.

What in the world had they been doing . . . ?

He locked eyes with Al again.

"Did this have to do with the bomb?"

Al didn't say anything, but his right hand, the only one visible, twitched. It was encased in some kind of metal . . . thing, that screamed of Winry's handywork. The uncoordinated twitches somehow translated into a waggling of a series of metal finger-like things.

"That means yes."

So he'd been trying to decompose the bomb. But why the seven corners –

In case he failed. He was going to try to send it back through the Gate.

But one took so much more energy than the other! If he had somehow powered an alchemic reaction capable of calling the Gate, then he could have deconstructed something with ten times the mass!

"Al, how did we power this?" They were both still alive, so clearly they hadn't traded their lives at the Gate to get through. Winry had said that Al had been shot, and his blood would have been worth something, but not nearly enough –

"Did someone . . . die for this?"

Al stared at him a long time. Then, the faintest twitch.

Ed closed his eyes.

So someone had died, near the circle, but if that was true, why hadn't Al successfully decomposed the bomb? Why had it ended up coming through the Gate, intact?

And why had they?

Ed opened his eyes again, watching his brother. "How many, Al?"

Al didn't respond, other than to blink, and finally look away.

Many. Many had died so they could do this.

"I don't understand," Fletcher interrupted, a little hesitantly, moving closer to the cart. "What are those symbols?"

"Destruction," Ed heard himself say evenly, but he couldn't look at Fletcher. All he could do was stare at Al.

They had sacrificed people to do this? Or had those people been dying anyway? Was that why Al had gotten shot? If those deaths had paid for their trip through the Gate, then why couldn't he remember?

"So he was trying to decompose the bomb, and then . . . something went wrong . . ." Russell mused aloud. Then he made a choked noise. At the same time, Fletcher's eyes widened.

The two Tringums stared at each other in horror, and Ed blinked, then went over the facts again in his head.

Al was trying to decompose the uranium bomb.

Al had used a seven-cornered circle, to get the thing to the Gate if for some reason he couldn't decompose it.

Many died to power the reaction.

If he had access to that power, he would have completed the decomposition.

So he was stopped. And he'd already considered the possibility of being stopped when he'd drawn the circle. Maybe because he was shot during the reaction, or because he was so badly wounded . . .

He was trying a decomposition and he stopped because of injury. Whether he was shot before or during the transmutation. Meaning he fell unconscious, or was too weak to continue.

And he could have fallen forward. Onto the circle.

That was why they went through the Gate with the bomb.

Al had fallen into his own decomposition transmutation.

And maybe so had he. That was the only reason he'd have been taken through the Gate. If he himself had been too close to that circle when an alchemic reaction of that magnitude started.

But if Al had fallen into the circle before they reached the Gate, then he would have died. There would have been evidence that he'd decomposed part of himself. It wouldn't have been a surprise, there'd have been a huge chunk of Al missing.

No, that wasn't true. He was trying a decomposition on a device of iron, silicone, uranium, water, lithium, sodium, mercury, lead, and a few other base metals. Therefore, those would have been the only things that he ended up pulling out of himself.

Al's body was missing those elements, or at least parts of those elements. It depended how far he got before he lost consciousness and they were taken to the Gate.

Ed's eyes widened. Had Al . . . planned that? Had Al drawn the seven-pointed circle, not because he knew there were going to be people dying, but because he thought he was going to? Had he meant to power that reaction with his own death?

"That's it!" Fletcher was staring at the tables of ingredients, and he immediately started grabbing things. Carbon. Sodium. Iron. Lithium.

Russell had obviously come to the same conclusion. "All necessary for motor function," he murmured. "That's exactly it."

"What's it?" Winry's voice was fairly calm, but there was an edge to it. "What was he trying to say?"

"He accidentally fell into his own circle," Ed said flatly. "He transmuted a part of his body away by mistake."

Al's eyes were still closed, and his hand was still.

Oh, Al . . .

"Guys, wait."

They all turned to look at Winry, who was frozen by Al's side. Her eyes were shifting, but it was clear she wasn't really looking at any of them. "If he accidentally transmuted part of his . . . of his body away, wouldn't . . . he have died?"

Russell glanced at Ed, then answered. "He didn't lose it in a localized area, Winry. He probably didn't get far enough to do that, because the bomb was fine. We're probably lucky he didn't set it off when he got interrupted." That was probably true. "What's missing is probably no more than an ounce or two of base minerals and metals."

"And we probably replaced some without even knowing, when we used the Red Stone," Fletcher added thoughtfully. "We didn't think to use any other materials besides iron, carbon, sodium, and sugar to replace his blood, so the Red Stones went directly into his body as ingredients."

Russell just shook his head. "And we didn't even notice. I'm sorry, Al."

Al opened his eyes again, and twitched his hand.

No.

Don't be sorry.

"You saved his life," Ed said quietly, eying the lip of the cart. "Don't apologize for something like that."

Ed balanced his right hip on the edge of the lip, reaching around behind him to place his hand on the edge. From there, he swung his damaged leg over the side, straddling the edge carefully. Then he whipped his right leg over the side, catching himself just before he would have pulled the cart on top of himself.

"Ed, be careful!"

He kept the hand on the cart, glancing around the room. "Winry, can I ask you to move those tables? We need to draw a bigger circle-"

Russell was way ahead of him. "You're right. And we need to get Al out of that bed, it'll only make things harder. Fletcher, can you help me –"

It seemed only a few minutes before the bed had been shoved against the far wall, and Al – similarly clad, much to Ed's relief – had been laid out in the center of the newly drawn transmutation circle. This one was only five-cornered, and filled with an interesting variety of symbols. Ed looked over it critically from the pile of blankets Winry had made him sit on.

"Oh, I see. You need the third inner ring to focus the surface –"

Fletcher just nodded, brushing off his hand from stray chalk dust. "He's not a plant, so I figured we needed to put in the extra safeguards to protect the parts of his body that we're not going to infuse."

"You up for this?" he heard Russell ask quietly. "We've been working for a while now. If you're tired, we can wait a few hours-"

"I'm good."

It was hard to believe these brothers were –

Were grown. Like Al and him. They weren't kids. Fletcher was actually taller than Russell, just barely, and he was a man.

So much time had passed –

"Ed?"

Winry was kneeling well away from the circle, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Ed, are you sure-"

He just nodded, cutting her off. "It's not the same, Winry. We're not replacing flesh and bone. Alchemy can't do that. We're just modifying what's already there."

She nodded. "But, what about . . . Al, he said that his soul comes away . . . from his body easily. That that's why he can put it into things for short amounts of time."

Edward paused. That was true; Al had the ability to transmute pieces of his soul into armor. Al had so transmuted a piece of his soul that had passed through the Gate. Presumably twice, since he'd remembered what he'd seen on the other side.

How had he . . . paid for that trip? Had he lost, literally, a scrap of his soul?

Russell caught his eye; the man looked suddenly unsure. "We've never done this to this extent, Ed. Not to a person. There is a risk . . ."

Al's right hand began to twitch, but they'd removed Winry's device, and it was impossible to tell if he was telling them yes or no.

Had Al explained the technique to him in the four years he'd forgotten? Was it perfectly safe to do this, or would they be risking accidentally detaching Al's already 'loose' soul?

"I have," Ed replied, leaning forward on his pile of blankets. He could just reach, but he used his arm to pull himself a little more forward. "I've affixed Al's soul to his body once before. I'll keep an eye on it while you two handle the infusion."

Al's hand continued to twitch, and there were tears in his eyes.

Ed looked up at Russell, and knew that he'd seen them too. He grinned at the other alchemist. "It's fine. I should probably do this alone."

"Don't be an idiot," Fletcher snapped acidly, causing Ed to gape at him. "You're probably more exhausted than we are. And you've never worked with living tissue, excepting full human transmutations. And this _isn't_ going to be one."

"He's right," Russell added. "I accept that you're good, Full Metal, but this is bordering on stupid. You need all the help you can get."

He kept the grin on his face easily. "I know." He could probably immediately offer up his life to the Gate, on the off chance something happened. He could protect them even if things went wrong. But were the Tringums really this good?

They'd made so much progress on the Red Stone. There was no doubt they were smarter than your average alchemists.

"I trust them, Al," he told his brother, quietly. "You brought me here, and got me help. Let me do the same."

Al's hand fell still a moment.

"I'm not going to let you spend the rest of your life like this," he continued. "Russell, Fletcher, we won't think any worse of you if you don't want to risk it."

"We gave you our answer," Fletcher responded, without even pausing.

"Besides, I'm under orders," Russell continued. "Dog of the military and all that."

Ed blinked, then grinned wider. "You sat for the exam?"

"I did. You're talking to the Winding Tree Alchemist."

Ed turned that over in his mind, then laughed softly. "That's a fitting title."

"So if two National Alchemists, one alchemist too smart to go national, and one superb automail mechanic want to fix you, you don't have much choice," Fletcher told Al. "We won't screw up."

Al's fingers were trembling, but Ed wasn't sure it was trying to indicate anything. He just made eye contact with the other alchemists. Working on a transmutation together, without practice, was going to be a little difficult, but they'd manage. The Tringums had been doing it all along, just like he and Al had. He'd stay out of their way, keep an eye on Al's soul, and they'd be fine.

If nothing else, he did know how to re-affix Al's soul.

And he would. Even if Winry really did come to the Gate to kick his ass.

Al hadn't saved him so he could die, or be trapped in something worse than armor for the rest of his life.

"Remember, Al, we still have to deal with that bomb," he reminded his brother.

"Wait." Winry's voice was small.

"It'll just take a few minutes, Winry," Ed reassured her, over his shoulder. "It'll be a little longer than the doll. You'll see."

The three met each other's gazes, took deep breaths, and pressed their hands to the circle.

A deep, greenish-blue glow slowly filled the room. It felt warm, and pulsed in a way he hadn't felt in quite some time.

It wasn't the crazed pulse he was accustomed to feeling, either, when he was trying to create living tissue, or to modify it. It was soothingly placid, and steady.

It was like a heartbeat, the beat of something so much larger than he could possibly fathom.

Did the Tringums know where this power came from? That other hearts had stopped, so they could feel this pulse?

Did they need to?

He'd spent the last few years regretting every convenient, lazy act of transmutation he'd ever performed, any transmutation that hadn't been completely necessary, because he had wasted those lives. Unknowingly, uncaringly spent the last moments of someone's life on his whim.

And Marcoh, Shou Tucker, they'd known, and still used it carelessly. Thoughtlessly.

Alchemists were disgusting creatures.

No, he decided. It was better they didn't know. They were already so close to that truth anyway, with their own research. It was enough they knew what the Red Stone they'd used was made of. If they knew every time they performed alchemy it was powered by human death –

He pulled his mind away from his guilt, focusing on what they were doing. He could feel the waves of concentration emanating from them, washing over Al. The waves were penetrating his skin, which was intact, pushing lower into the more base molecules. The ingredients they'd placed in the circle began to glow, and he felt the first few traces of sodium, iron, and lithium flood into Al.

His brother's eyes widened, but it didn't seem to be hurting him. They moved up, from his feet to his legs, then through his thighs directly into his abdomen. They'd put exactly how much they thought they'd need in the circle, and the guesstimate looked like it was going to come out exactly right.

Al gasped, and his right hand clenched into a fist.

Ed focused, reaching out for that almost liquid-feeling thing that was the human soul. It was there, safely contained, flowing in the confines of Al's body. The safeguards Fletcher had drawn into the circle were preventing them from affecting the surface of Al's body, and they were moving quickly but carefully, sure to finish patching one cell at a time.

The infusion flooded into Al's spine, and he stiffened within the circle.

No - too fast. They were moving too fast -

Quite suddenly, the pulse was gone. The circle was gone.

The room was gone.

Ed found himself standing.

Standing on his own two feet.

Two very bare feet. He knew that because he was staring at them. He wiggled his toes, but he didn't feel cold, or hot.

He didn't feel anything at all.

"When I told you my soul detached easily, I was serious," Al said, somewhat accusatorily. The voice was right beside him.

But it wasn't just the two of them, this time. They weren't alone. "That's –"

Ed closed his eyes, recognizing both the place and the voice simultaneously. They could go back if the price was paid. Nothing had to happen to the Tringums.

And if one limb was enough to buy one trip, and for some reason he had all four . . .

Ed stepped forward. There was the light brushing sound of someone following him, and he extended his right arm – his flesh and blood right arm – and barred their way.

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch it in time."

The deep, earthy sound of the rocky gates pulling open echoed across the expanse of dim, golden light, and Ed opened his eyes to see the black arms of the denizens of the Gate reaching out for him.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Ahahaha! Now that I've tortured you with the longest one-shot in history, I will further torture you with a cliffhanger! The next chapter will cover Gate physics, Gate logic, all the Gate incongruities the movie produced, and probably a little humor. I expect two more chapters after this one, maybe three, but it's coming to a close! Whew.

This chapter is really long, because I'm an overwriter, and there was a lot to tell. I looked through and found all kinds of things (like more instead of move, for example. If Al wasn't moring, we'd have a problem.) so I'm sure I only caught half. I'm sorry about that! Thank you guys for your plot suggestions - I will cover as many of them as possible! And thank you all for the reviews and the kind words!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He didn't really hear the words. They were irrelevant; an apology for something that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was what was directly in front of them now.

All he saw were the lines of black, stretching towards them. The pairs of eyes, all so different, watching.

Wanting.

They went for Ed first. They always went for Ed first.

"Nii-san! No!"

"Get Russ and Fletch out of here!" Ed shouted, even as Al launched himself at the outstretched arm that was meant to block his way.

To protect him.

Not this time, brother, he thought darkly. Not again.

But the arm he was aiming for, the one crowned with the light scar of the fox bite, swung forward quite suddenly before he could grab it, meeting Ed's left with a resounding clap.

And before Ed could transmute anything, the arms had him.

Al couldn't stop his forward lunge, reaching out as the tiny black hands, attached to the impossibly long, ever-growing arms, wrapped around Ed's right arm. The little fingers dug greedily into the flesh, indenting the otherwise unmarred skin. Getting a good grip for what was about to happen.

Ed calmly slapped his left hand down on top of his shoulder, touching both the arms there simultaneously, and with a terrifyingly familiar golden glow, they began to flake apart.

The arms reacted instantly, flinching back from Edward's form. It didn't stop the reaction; golden sections continued to scale off as the lines whipped back to the safety of the Gate. Ed clapped his freed right hand on his waist, where another three arms were coiled, and repeated the process.

Decomposition.

He was fighting them.

The black lines lashed back and forth, the glowing ends almost like smoldering wicks as they flew back for the Gate. Some of the visible eyes were wide with shock, others narrowed. Once the last arm snaked back to the safety of the Gate, the golden glow of the decomposition faded.

And then everything was still.

The Gate didn't close.

Al had pulled himself to a halt, and slowly straightened out of his lunge position. Behind him, he heard the sounds of fabric, probably a struggle, but he didn't pay the Tringums any attention.

"Nii-san . . ." But his relief didn't last long. "That was probably a bad idea."

Alphonse took a stride forward, coming to stand side by side with his brother. Ed never took his eyes off the Gate, and shook out his right arm after a moment.

"Probably," he agreed.

"What are they made of?" And how had Ed known . . ?

"Carbon, partially," he answered evenly. "The building blocks of all life, and the color . . . it was just a guess."

Al watched the Gate. It would only take a moment for it to react, and he didn't expect it to be pleasant. The tiny black forms within the Gate were maliciously evil even when they had you at their mercy. He didn't expect their show of defiance was going to be well-received.

"Get the Tringums out of here," Ed repeated quietly. Then he tensed, falling into a defensive position as the Gate doors opened wider. Al mirrored his brother. He'd always been better at hand-to-hand combat anyway.

"Ed! Al! Get out of there!" It sounded like Russell.

"No – Russ, stop –"

The doors fully opened with a dull thud, almost striking the tortured statuary that framed them. For a long moment, everything was still.

Waiting.

Then a forest of black came pouring out of the Gate.

"Get them out, Al!" Ed shouted, charging forward to meet the wave of darkness hurtling towards them. "Promise me!"

Al swore, and followed his brother. Obviously Fletcher had the right idea, and was preventing Russell from getting into the thick of things. Hopefully the Gate would take them while it was ahead, and let the Tringums go. After all, two bodies and two souls had to be enough to pay any toll, didn't it?

Ed was able to complete his circle, and he managed to catch many of the arms with his outstretched hands. They were aiming, now; they were going directly for his wrists. Once they separated his arms, Ed didn't have a chance –

Al brought his hands together, and reached out.

But they were overwhelmed so quickly.

His brother was completely enveloped before Al could get more than his single decomposition finished. Ed's left arm was the last limb to be snagged, and Alphonse reached out, clasping his brother's wrist tightly. Even as he was yanked off his feet, flying towards the Gate with Ed, the arms didn't reach for him. Didn't touch him.

Just like they hadn't when he'd hidden in the armor, and followed Ed back to Earth.

Just like they hadn't when they'd come back to Amestris, until he'd asked.

Even though he'd inflicted damage as well, there was no retaliation against him at all.

"NO! AL, NO!" Ed's face, his eyes were no longer visible, but his voice was anguished. A thick black band circled out of the mass to cover Ed's mouth, and Al saw a flash of white as his brother sank his teeth into it.

"NII-SAN!"

The arms didn't fling him back, didn't hurl him away or reach around for him. But the little fingers began flowing around Ed's wrist like water, worming their way between Al's fingers and Ed's skin. In no time they had formed a gauntlet around Ed's hand. Al dug his fingernails in, gripping with all his might –

And then his brother slid away from him, as though a glove had slipped from his fingers.

The moment the black hands had removed Al, they yanked themselves away from him. With nothing else to support his forward motion Al fell, landing flat on his face yards from the Gate. By the time he got his feet back under him and his head up, it was over.

With a resounding crash, the Gate doors slammed shut, and the roaring echo seemed to last forever.

Al stared at the Gate, uncomprehendingly.

Why? Why had it done that? Why did it leave him behind, again?

The slapping of footsteps finally reached him, and Al barely registered it as he was pulled to his feet. They were almost on top of the Gate, only a few yards from it, but it didn't move. Didn't so much as crack open. No eyes so much as peered at them.

It was satisfied with its payment.

So why wasn't it disappearing?

Al blinked, turning shell-shocked eyes on the man on his right. It was Russell, and his first assumption had been correct. It looked like his shirt had been almost pulled off of him, and a hand on Al's left shoulder told him Fletcher was just beside him as well.

Ed had told him to get them out of here.

"What . . . what the hell was that?"

"Ed always thought it was Truth, but our sensei called it Hell," he heard his voice respond, oddly hollow. "You can perform forbidden alchemy with its help, but the price is always too high."

The price . . . Al closed his eyes. Would Edward always sacrifice his life like this? Sacrifice everything . . . for him?

Would he?

Where did this circle end? When they were both dead?

Ed was right. He needed to get Fletcher and Russell out of here, before they pushed their already strained luck. If they both died, everything – all of it, since they day they tried to bring back their mother – was pointless.

I will come back for you, nii-san, he thought at the black stone, staring down a warped statue of a human figure, writhing in pain. As he watched, it seemed like the figure was moving slightly, trapped in a permanent state of unbearably slow agony.

Would he see nii-san's face in one of these statues, when he returned?

"No!" Fletcher's hand on his shoulder tightened. "No, that's not - I won't accept that!"

"We should go," his voice said dully, without any input from his heart. "We shouldn't linger here. It isn't safe."

"Ed fought them." Russell's voice cracked slightly. "There's three of us. Tell us how he did it, Al. We'll get him out-"

"No." Finally, some life. "We don't know what will happen –"

"We can't leave him here! They'll tear hi-" Fletcher seemed to realize what he was saying, because his voice broke off in a choked sound. Al just nodded, once.

"Yes. It took his arm and his leg the same way, when we tried to bring back mom."

"And your entire body," Russell added softly. "All of that for your mother's soul."

Al's voice didn't answer for him, and he blinked. For his mother's soul, his body and Ed's leg had been lost . . . but was that really true? Had their mother's soul cost his entire body and Ed's leg, when his own soul had merely cost Ed's arm?

Their father had told him, over six years ago, that he must have gained something for the trade of his body, and later he'd assumed it had been his ability to transmute his soul to inanimate objects.

But what if . . . what if it was something more?

If it only cost a limb to gain access to someone's soul . . . what had his whole body purchased?

Was that why the Gate didn't try to take him in? Why it had left him alone when he'd traveled through, and then back again? And yet again, just now?

But he had his body back. Whatever he had gained, wouldn't he have then lost it?

Did the duration he did without it count towards a 'cost'? His memories, taken from him when nii-san tried to give his life to resurrect him – he had them back now. But had the fact that the Gate had 'kept' them for two years . . . did that mean something?

Was that why it had only cost Edward his arm and leg to resurrect him, after his Philosopher's Stone body had been spent, instead of his entire life?

They'd returned all that they'd gained, hadn't they? The homunculus they created, Sloth, had been returned. His soul had been affixed to his body, so they had returned the 'favor' of the blood seal as well. Creating their mother's body from the ingredients had simply cost alchemic energy – lives from the people on Earth. Ed had affixed their mother's soul to the body they created through normal alchemic reactions, and he'd affixed his soul to the armor with his own blood and his arm.

Even Ed's limbs, borrowed by Wrath, had been returned to the Gate.

Ed didn't owe the Gate anymore. Everything nii-san had gained, had been given back.

Was that why he had his real arm and leg whenever he appeared in front of the Gate?

But . . . did that mean he didn't owe the Gate anything?

Or had nii-san just had to pay for his soul, again?

Al blinked, staring at that so-slowly gyrating statue. But he regularly – or at least used to regularly – transmute a piece of his soul into things. Eventually it was attracted back to his body. Wouldn't it have been in this case? It had been temporarily knocked out of his body by the jarring it had received during the infusing process, but that hadn't _killed_ him, or destroyed his body.

Wouldn't his soul have returned to his body eventually anyway?

Why _had_ the Gate appeared? Did it appear every time a human attempted human transmutation? Was working on a body without a soul always human transmutation?

"Why did you appear! ?" he shouted.

"Al -!"

The Gate didn't respond.

"We don't owe you anything!" he bellowed at it, taking a step forward despite the restraining hand on his left shoulder. "We don't need your help, and we won't pay your price!"

Shou Tucker had used the Philosopher's Stone – a piece of his body – to create a perfect replica of Nina. But he hadn't managed to affix her soul to the body, when Dante, their father, even he and Ed had managed it. At the time, he'd known it was because Tucker didn't have the resolve. He offered up the Philosopher's Stone, but he didn't insist on getting what he wanted. The focus, the determination that nii-san had, that he had, Tucker had lacked.

So even with all the tools, it was possible to pay a price and receive nothing. Nina's body could have been created through normal, complex alchemy. It was just matter, arranged and functioning. Like a plant. Without a soul, it wasn't really alive.

If the Gate could take something and give nothing in return . . .

But it was the Law of Equivalent Exchange. It ruled Nature, it ruled all the laws of physics, even mechanics on Earth. Give and take. It was a constant in both worlds.

But not here.

Did that mean . . . that the Gate wasn't part of the natural world?

People, for example, could take something and not pay a price.

Al took another step forward, and this time Fletcher let him.

Nii-san had told him, about two years ago, that their father had given him a valuable piece of information when he'd first arrived in Earth, in a city called London. Alchemists had a small version of the Gate inside of them. It allowed them to channel the energy from human life on Earth into power to fuel alchemic reactions in their world. Red Stone amplified that power. The Philosopher's Stone amplified it further.

But those were just concentrated forms of the energy taken from human life. In essence, the same energy that the Gate provided, just without using the Gate.

What if something about human transmutation took more energy than a single alchemist could channel through their Gate? Wasn't that the reason that their father had originally almost died? Because forming the Philosopher's Stone had taken too great a toll on his body? He'd had to make up the lack of energy with his own life.

If that was true, then the power deficiency could be made up from this Gate.

Was that why the Gate appeared whenever human transmutation occurred? To offer up that required energy?

Was that why it had appeared now? And when he'd almost died on Earth? Or had the seven-pointed circle called it, just as Dante had used the circle on Rose's baby to call the Gate without 'paying'? Was it simply attracted to the idea that it might be called upon during human transmutation, in order to exact a price for the favor?

That was . . .that was human thinking, though. That wasn't the way Nature worked.

But . . . hadn't nii-san said that he thought he remembered meeting Wrath in the Gate, before Wrath was born? And hadn't Wrath confirmed it, saying he had taken Ed's arm because he wanted it? Scoffed at the idea of equivalent trade?

Hadn't nii-san just decomposed part of the things that lived inside the Gate? He'd tried to decompose carbon, the building block of life . . .

So those tiny black creatures weren't souls. They were something else.

Something else like people. Something that could accept something without giving something in return.

Tucker hadn't had the resolve to demand fair trade.

But he did.

He wasn't dealing with the Gate itself. He was dealing with the dark beings that lived inside of it.

"Pay up, you bastards!" he screamed at the closed stone doors. "You owe me for the four years you kept my body! And for the two years you kept my memories! What did I gain, besides a slippery soul?"

The doors remained solidly closed.

"Al-" Fletcher tried weakly, but Al ignored him.

"And you owe Ed his body and his memories!" There had been no reason to take him. And the Gate knew it. The things that lived there wanted to keep his limbs, but they kept returning to Ed because Ed no longer had the things he'd gained, so they no longer had a reason to keep the limbs –

"We didn't summon you! It was your choice to appear, and we won't pay!"

That was why Ed kept losing the limbs. He had to keep paying a price to travel back and forth between Europe and Amestris. He was paying by letting the beings in the Gate keep the arm and leg they owed him. That was why he'd had them when they crossed back to this world, and had appeared without them. He was letting the Gate keep them as payment for the crossing.

But now no one was crossing. No soul was missing, in need of affixing to a body.

There was no service to pay for.

The Gate had taken Ed because it was angry. Because the beings inside were spiteful.

And they could be fought.

"GIVE HIM BACK!" he roared, and brought his hands together sharply.

The ringing echo of his clap resounded, bouncing off the nearby stone doors and reverberating around in his ears as though it was alive. It was probably a useless threat, considering this Gate could channel so much more energy than the Gate inside of him, but it was clear that what Ed had done had caused the beings inside the Gate surprise, if not pain.

He would force these doors open if he had to.

Behind him, he heard Russell take a preparatory breath, and he heard another clap.

Of course. They'd seen the 'Truth,' too. The beings inside the Gate had shown it to the Tringums when they'd originally opened the doors. That information was necessary so that the humans that appeared before the Gate could 'barter' for what they needed.

It probably didn't cost them a thing.

Another slap, very firm.

Fletcher.

For a moment, nothing happened. The three echoes played off the golden light that surrounded them, and the Gate stood resolutely shut. The statuary on the Gate seemed to stare down at them in reproach for their ungrateful behavior.

Al glared at them. Another few seconds, and he was going to transmute his own doorway –

With a crack like the splitting of an entire continent, the black Gate began to part.

They opened just enough for hundreds of pairs of eyes to peer out, staring at the three alchemists that would dare challenge them. Al knew, intellectually, that they were vastly outnumbered and they probably hadn't done permanent damage to the beings. If they managed to decompose their entire bodies they might be killed, but with their understanding of alchemy and access to all that power, the little beings had probably repaired themselves or each other immediately.

They really didn't have a chance of taking on the Gate beings.

But he didn't back down.

The Tringums were adults. They could choose for themselves if they would fight, or withdraw. Al was fairly sure he could 'offer' his life in exchange for letting the Tringums go. The Gate would probably agree; it would leave two more humans out there foolish enough – and now knowledgeable enough – to call the Gate in the future and pay it.

In the past, he'd heard childlike giggles come from inside the Gate. Now, he heard something he could call laughter –

But there was nothing innocent about it.

A bubble of darkness began to bulge out of the Gate, and Al tensed and readied. It was a filling blister; it bulged like a seeping boil, spilling into the golden light, oozing and growing –

And then the darkness pulled away, and revealed light skin. Blonde hair.

The arms of the Gate beings pulled away very slowly, as though inviting attack, and Al remained absolutely still. There was no doubt it was Edward; the fox bite shone white and glistening on his intact right arm.

Al had what he wanted. He wasn't going to turn this into a battle of wills with the Gate beings. Not at the cost of nii-san. No matter how they teased him, they were giving him back his brother. He would wait.

Ed's eyes were open, but he made no move to uncurl himself from the fetal position he'd been laid in. Even as the last of the arms pulled away, delaying even further as if to mock them and their empty threat, his brother never so much as twitched.

"Edward!" Russell called, not daring to move lest the offering be merely a test, or a tease. The last little hand trailed a finger longingly along Ed's right arm, falling to his hip and then his right leg in a caress so reminiscent of the way Dante had touched Rose –

Could it be her? Even though she wasn't a homunculus, she'd said she was no longer human –

Al wasn't sure how he managed to be still as the doors ever so slowly ground towards one another –

"AAUGH!"

Al blinked, then froze a moment, completely stunned.

He was on his back.

He didn't know when or how he'd been struck – he hadn't even seen it coming. He didn't know who had screamed, but the voice had been too high-pitched to have been one of them. There was white light all around him. The white was crisp and clean, and if he looked carefully, he could almost see Aunt Pinako's face in some of the shadowing –

A ceiling.

And a face.

A furious face.

Startled voices pierced his surprise.

"Fletcher!"

"W-winry!?"

The furious face glared at him a second more, then moved off to the side, and it occurred to his bemused brain that it had looked an awful lot like Colonel Roy Mustang had when he'd cornered them just outside of Resembool, immediately after he'd been transmuted into the Stone.

Half a second later, Al realized it _was_ Roy Mustang.

Alphonse sat up with a start, not finding it surprising that he could. They were back. Back in the hospital. His body had been repaired, and the Gate was gone.

But where was nii-san –

"Edward."

He whirled at the sound of rubber-soled boots grinding into something rough, and saw the major general kneeling beside a curled form. Mustang's back was blocking most of his view, but he could see two bare legs, both flesh-colored.

No bruises. No missing bits.

"Fullmetal!"

He scrambled to his feet, hurrying out of the transmutation circle to the other alchemist's side.

Edward lay huddled on his right side, his left arm clinging to his right shoulder in an iron grip. It was still there, though – the port was gone as thought it had never been, and Ed's flesh and blood arm was visible between his clenched fingers.

Something rough ground underneath the balls of his feet as Al crouched by his brother, and he wasn't surprised to see that the debris was composed of tiny balls of metal.

The automail port ingredients.

Ed was lying in them, trembling ever so slightly, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes wide open and staring at nothing at all.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: So, there you have it! Anything that seems unclear will be handled in the future chapters in musings between the alchemists, but if you want a more straightforward definition, please let me know, and I will post my notes as an epilogue. Thank you guys so much for putting up with the cliffhanger! You see this was too long to make all one chapter, right? You're not going to kill me, right? On the read-through I found all kinds of wrong stuff, so I apologize for offensive grammar and incorrect words still present! Thank you all so much for the support and the reviews!

:waves glowing tentacle roses at the lovely readers:


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He tried not to look interested in the golden glow creeping down the secured ward hallway.

Though it was quite interesting indeed. Considering the last communication from Havoc had included confirmation that both the Tringums and Rockbell had had their visiting privileges revoked until General Hakuro could properly interrogate Alphonse Elric, it was rather odd that a sizable alchemic reaction should be in progress.

And he wasn't the only one that seemed to find it odd.

He'd originally intended to have the element of surprise, as Hakuro had no doubt had before him. That had meant making a special effort to walk on the outside edges of his boots in order to minimize the sound of his footsteps through the lobby to the security checkpoint. Now he was certain he could have worn iron clogs and, nearly thirty seconds after he had stopped before them, still not have attracted their attention.

Both sergeants were paying the lobby – and him – no mind at all. One was seated behind an authority-enhancing hardwood desk, twisted in his chair far enough that the name secured to the front of his uniform was no longer visible. His partner didn't even bother to keep himself open the lobby, and actually had his entire back turned.

He was considering clearing his throat, just to get their attention, when the one at the desk twisted slightly further, and accidentally knocked a pen off the desk. It still took him a few seconds to retrieve it, and as the pen rolled towards the lobby, his gaze was pulled with it.

The exact moment when he realized a pair of military boots were standing on the opposite side of the desk was readily apparent. He sprang to attention so quickly it looked painful, and his partner was only half a second behind. Both looked incredibly guilty.

As well they should. Had the Elric brothers really been here to warn of impending invasion, he could have been an assassin. If Hakuro really considered them a threat, one would already have visited them.

Now it was looking like the Elric brothers were going to make all of Hakuro's dreams come true. The Prime Minister's seat, a military victory in the north, and a valid reason to take authority and power from alchemists. He'd probably have a house built in Central for them to express his thanks.

Not that they'd be able to afford to keep it, after alchemists were replaced.

He allowed his flat, narrow eye to express his disappointment with their performance. "Can I get you men some coffee, so you can remain more focused on your duties?"

"No, sir! We apologize, sir!"

He gave each one a hard look, noting they were attempting to recover the guilty faces by staring resolutely forward.

"May I see the visitor's log?"

"Yessir!"

The first sergeant did not retake his seat, but he smartly opened the top drawer of the desk and removed the log. Mustang flipped through the top few pages, not surprised to see the general had not bothered to record his visit.

He'd probably threatened them, but taking the Tringums and Winry out of the equation made it rather moot. If Alphonse still couldn't move and Edward had no mechanic to attach his automail, the Elric brothers would be incapable of interfering. Retracting of the military passes virtually guaranteed they would be removed from any of the proceedings tomorrow, or in the foreseeable future.

Were the Tringums attempting one more treatment on Al as a parting gift?

"Busy night, gentlemen?"

Both soldiers looked quite uncomfortable, but neither dropped their gaze.

"No, Major General sir!"

"Then why is there an entry missing from this log?"

Neither soldier responded, and Roy looked them over again, hard.

"There are notes requesting the retraction of passes I issued to . . . Fletcher Tringum, Russell Tringum, and Winry Rockbell," he said, flipping each page for emphasis. "But no log of an officer with the appropriate rank passing through here to issue the withdrawal. Why is that?"

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"Oh, don't be sorry," he continued, in a smooth, low voice. "Be more diligent. Does Alphonse Elric currently have any visitors?"

"Sir! Lieutenant Colonel Havoc is stationed in his room!"

Roy looked past them, at the glow coming from the only open door in the ward. That had been especially sloppy of Havoc, to leave it wide open for the world to see . . .

"Also, the Tringum brothers and Ms. Rockbell, sir!" the other guard barked.

His eyes flicked back to the second guard. "If their privileges were revoked, why are they still with the witness?"

The two guards froze, obviously waiting for the other to speak, and the second one took that responsibility. "Miss Rockbell and the Tringums are gathering their equipment, sir!"

"I see." Of course, Hakuro had been gone for over an hour, so they should have been out of there by now. Why weren't these soldiers volunteering to remove them? "How much equipment did they have?"

"Sir! Ms. Rockbell had been using the alchemists to produce automail components for her between their treatments of the patient!"

. . . of course. What else would you use an alchemist for?

And even if it was just an excuse, it did explain away the alchemic reaction down the hall. And their interest in it, if they'd allowed her to go back with a load of metal even after the pass had been revoked. Or perhaps they were just watching and wondering what was taking so long. Since there was no entry in the log of the general's visit, it stood to reason that they didn't realize he knew how long they'd allowed the visitors to remain.

He just closed the log with a snap, handing it back to the first sergeant. "That patient may know something about an invading force with powerful weapons. If I am able to approach you both again without being detected, there will be nothing but cinders remaining. Am I clear?"

"Yessir!"

He marched between them with a slightly annoyed look on his face, but in reality, he was rather pleased. They would probably keep their focus for the next several hours at least, and the more attention they paid to the lobby and the hallway, the less they would be paying to what was going on elsewhere.

Not that he necessarily had a plan, but an alibi was something you never really knew you needed until it was too late to fabricate one.

He allowed his footsteps to ring down the hallway, and wasn't surprised to see Havoc's silhouette appear in the doorway. It vanished after a brief moment; not because Jean had moved, but because the light coming from Al's room flared, then went out altogether.

Very shortly thereafter, he heard a started exclamation, and Havoc retreated from the doorframe.

Roy Mustang carefully didn't hurry, lest he draw the attention of the guards. They didn't normally work with National Alchemists; they'd been chosen specifically because they could not be interrogated into giving anyone any information on anything related to alchemy Alphonse might have been able to perform to bring him back to this world. They were also less likely to accurately estimate how long it would take the Tringums to restore Al, though in the end that hadn't been to their advantage.

Four days, and while he was no longer nearly dead, he was no closer to telling them how he and his brother had come back. Or about the bomb, at least not until the information was all but worthless.

So what had they gotten desperate enough to try . . .?

Roy lengthened his stride slightly, still keeping the footsteps themselves unhurried. It took him far too long to reach the correct room, but outside of the single female voice, he hadn't heard another sound. Nor had there been any other unexplained lights. As soon as he cleared the doorjamb, he pulled the knob sharply, allowing the door to slam shut behind him as he took in the scene.

There wasn't much to see, actually. Alphonse's bed had been shoved against the back wall, and alchemy ingredients were laid on it in neat rows. At the foot was a large cart, somewhat akin to one used to haul solid trash from the hospital to the dumps, and beside that two automail limbs were stacked. There was a large and intricate transmutation circle drawn in the center of the room. It was currently unoccupied and inactive.

So was most of the room. Outside of Jean and Winry, it was empty.

Winry was pressed against the wall to his right, and Jean was just beside her, obviously trying to calm her down.

"Havoc."

The soldier's head came up, but he didn't turn. "They vanished. Right into thin air."

Mustang looked at the circle, hard. Edward had kept some records of the circles he'd found, most notably the ones in the Fifth Laboratory, and his discovery that adding a point to the standard six-pointed circle significantly focused the reaction. This was nothing like a circle needed to transmute Red Stone.

It had been his first fear. That the Tringums thought they needed more of it to restore Al. It had crossed his mind, too, but short of excavating the laboratory, unless the Tringums had some stashed away, there was none to be had.

This circle had definitely been drawn by the Tringums, and pulled from their biological manipulation studies. It had a series of safeguards built into it, and a few symbols he'd need to look up, but otherwise it looked harmless.

It didn't look like anything that would cause three alchemists to vanish.

"What were they attempting?"

No one immediately answered him, and he headed straight for Winry.

"I wasn't in the room when they started," Havoc told him, stepping aside without taking his hand off her shoulder. The young woman looked shaken, and tears were pouring down her cheeks, but she met his gaze squarely.

"What happened?"

"They're gone." She said it so simply, like it would explain everything, and her voice was rock steady. Only her tears gave away her distress. "They tried to put some things – minerals, and metals – back into Al's body. Then something . . . went wrong. Al – I think – I don't know."

Tried to put some minerals and metals back into Al's body? That sort of made sense, considering the circle, but –

What was he missing, and where had it gone?

"What do you mean, they tried to reconstruct his body? Why?"

She gestured at the bed, and after a second he looked in that general direction to see several sheets of paper. He strode over without another word, picking them up. The first page was a series of symbols from the Great Art, symbols he recognized instantly.

Scar had carried these tattoos on his arm, the one he'd been using to seal the lives that later became the ingredients for the Philosopher's Stone. The second page held a much more widely recognized symbol for much the same thing – decomposition.

Destruction.

But what were these in relation to -?

"Edward said that Al accidentally fell into his own transmutation circle."

Al fell into a decomposition circle? What –

The uranium bomb.

His injuries.

He had probably been shot taking the bomb – or freeing his brother – and when he'd attempted to destroy the bomb, he'd fallen unconscious and into the circle. He'd obviously only been strong enough to complete the decomp for a second, maybe two, otherwise he would have killed himself. The uranium bomb was made up of such things as sodium and water, two things his body had still contained when they'd found him in the armor.

But the base metals . . . Iron, lithium, mercury, and that sort. He probably pulled enough out of his body that he could no longer function, and then . . .

Then what? Why had a decomposition circle brought them here?

And why had this one taken him right back out again?

This wouldn't have been reconstruction, not in the strictest sense. They would have been putting an ounce of materials back into an otherwise intact body. It was the same as rehydration, in a way, a method healing arts alchemists in the desert used to save dying men. But it would have been a broad mix of elements, and someone would have had to understand the human body very well to do it properly.

Russell Tringum was no slouch when it came to biological alchemy. He could see the Winding Tree Alchemist discovering and then beginning such an infusion. But why would they all have transmuted themselves into oblivion? Or to the world Edward and Al had originally come from?

Did it have to do with Alphonse's ability to transmute a part of his soul into objects? Had he only projected his soul here . . .? But no. There'd be no container for him here. The armor would have been empty save for Al's soul. It wasn't as though he could have been called back to that world, and even if he was, why would the Tringums have vanished as well?

Had something gone wrong? Had they pushed the envelope between healing alchemy and human transmutation?

How?

Mustang glanced at the circle again, aware the papers had begun inexplicably crumbling in his grasp.

Al's soul.

The little boy that had refused to sit for the National Alchemy exam despite finding out his older brother had done it had talked about his celebrated ability to 'intelligently animate' objects once. He'd described it as his soul 'detaching' and briefly occupying other objects. These pieces of soul would return to him and the next time he slept, he could see what it was that object had seen and done as though it was a dream.

If his soul had detached from his body during this process, it would have become human transmutation. Alchemy on flesh without a soul.

Then again, one could argue all chimera work was the same thing, and very rarely did an alchemist transmute himself into oblivion creating a chimera.

And if that was the case . . .

The Elrics had survived that before. But he doubted the Tringums had ever ventured into that territory. The guards had said both Russell and Fletcher were supposed to be here –

Surely they hadn't disappeared permanently. Surely if Alphonse had disappeared with them –

Shit.

Mustang glanced back at the center of the room in time to be blinded by a flash of sun-strong golden light. The impression of heat came with it, and it took several seconds before the brilliant glow had subsided enough to see through.

He merely lifted his arm to shield his good eye. Havoc, too, handled the sudden, silent, and overwhelming explosion of light without so much as a curse. Winry Rockbell, on the other hand, was apparently unprepared to ever see them again. She let out a shriek loud enough to wake the dead.

So much for the soldiers not paying attention to what was going on in the room.

As soon as the reaction halted, Roy hurried into the center of the transmutation circle, scuffing his boot through the chalk lines and glaring down at the prone figure there.

Alphonse Elric.

He kept watching the young man until he saw Alphonse's eyes snap open. They widened as they focused on him, and behind him he heard Winry verbally recognize the person that had suddenly reappeared closest to her.

"Fletcher?"

And he wasn't alone.

The young man was on his hands and knees, fists curled on the tops of his thighs, and his expression was one of stunned surprise. Fletcher immediately looked to his right, where his brother Russell Tringum sat in much the same manner. Both looked obviously startled, but none the worse for their experience.

"W-winry?"

Alphonse Elric blinked up at him from the center of the transmutation circle, clad only in his boxers, and Roy noted a fourth figure, very much the same in build and stature, and similarly clothed, collapsing on the other side of the circle.

"Edward."

What the hell was he doing in here? How did he get in?

. . . was that Edward . . . ?

He was missing the full metal.

Yet he had four limbs.

Mustang hurried over as the body finished slumping, favoring Ed's right side. He wasn't hugging the port Winry had installed, but rather had wrapped his left hand around his intact right shoulder and arm. His legs were curled together, nearly up to his chin, but they appeared to be the same both in color and length. There was no way these were painted automail.

These were his real limbs.

Mustang crouched beside the figure, his boot soles grinding something into the tiled floor of the ward. He paid no attention, grasping the man's left shoulder and giving him a rough shake.

Edward didn't respond. His eyes were open but unfocused, and while the shaking motion rocked his head, his eyelids did not reflexively flinch.

"Fullmetal!"

Beneath his hand he could feel the slight quiver of muscle contractions, but little else. Edward was warm to the touch, and obviously alive, but his expression was vacant.

He looked very much like a human body without a soul.

A shadow came to join him almost silently, on his bad side, and Mustang gave Edward Elric another shake, to much the same effect.

"Major General?" Fletcher Tringum's voice was shaking.

Mustang released the Fullmetal-shaped body, shifting his crouch to face the person that had approached him. Alphonse Elric.

Obviously the infusion had been a success, at any rate.

How on Earth had the two brothers used this situation to restore Ed's body? What had they traded in return for the limbs that would have left them both alive and unhurt?

Al wasn't paying him the slightest attention. Instead, he reached out to grab his brother's face.

". . . nii-san . . ."

Mustang just stood, taking a quick inventory. Four alchemists, one officer, one automail mechanic. Could anyone else have possibly been in the room and been used as payment?

Surely Edward wasn't stupid enough to have paid for the restoration of his body with his soul. There was another, far less exotic explanation for his state, but it wasn't a much more pleasant alternative.

"Tringum."

Russell was on his feet, and he hadn't shaken the stunned look. He also didn't seem that surprised to see him.

"Is everyone accounted for?"

The Winding Tree alchemist did exactly what he did – took a visual inventory. Then he nodded, clapping a strong hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're all here," he confirmed, craning his head to try to see around Al. "Ed, he's –"

"He's fine." Alphonse wasn't going to get much further with him than he had, at least not like he was. But Ed wasn't in any danger of dying in the next ten minutes.

At least not until he became coherent.

"Jean, keep the uniforms out of here." The last thing he needed reported to Hakuro was Alphonse's and Edward's new conditions. The lieutenant colonel headed out into the hallway without a word.

Mustang then turned back to Russell. "What happened?"

Fletcher was looking down at his brother, but Russell didn't release him. He looked like someone that just returned to HQ after what was supposed to have been a suicide mission. "We started a base metal infusion into Al – we think he fell into a deconstruction transmutation. We were almost finished, and then we saw . . ." He was searching for the word Mustang didn't want to hear.

"We saw the Gate," Fletcher finished for him, quietly. Then he shook his head slightly. "We fought the Gate."

Mustang felt his eyebrows rising to his hairline. Fought the Gate? "What do you mean?"

"There are beings that live inside the Gate," Al's voice was behind him, and sad. "It was summoned because it thought they were going to perform human transmutation, and it took Edward as payment."

That could explain his current state – but not the limbs.

He turned around in time to see Al wrapping his brother's left arm around his neck. "And it gave you back his restored body? With what did you pay?"

Al straightened, picking his unresisting brother up off the floor. "The Gate owed us," he answered, heading immediately for the bed on the far wall. "I think we've returned everything we've gained, and regained everything we lost. I think we're even now."

"Al . . ." Russell's voice faltered. Clearly he'd finally gotten a good look at Edward. "Is he –"

"He was like this when we left Stuttgart." Al's voice was slightly strained as he yanked the blanket on the bed back, spilling the neatly ordered ingredients noisily onto the floor before lowering Ed's abdomen onto the bed. Fletcher hurried over to help, arranging Ed's legs on the mattress. Throughout the process, Ed did nothing. He didn't protest or fight even when they pulled his left arm away from his right shoulder.

"His memories," Russell muttered. "It gave them back."

That was the less exotic explanation of catatonia.

Mustang glanced over at the only silent person in the room. Winry was still leaning against the wall, one hand covering her mouth, and the other wrapped around her stomach as if it pained her. She wasn't shaking, though, and all things considered, she was handling everything pretty well.

Which was a bother. If she'd been behaving like a stereotypical woman, she'd be more useful.

"Fletcher, Russell." When he had both their attention, he nodded towards her. "The three of you had your military passes revoked. Leave immediately."

For a second, it looked as though Fletcher was going to protest, but his brother squeezed his shoulder. "Right," Russell agreed, and glanced around at the ingredients Al had spilled on the floor to make room for Ed. "What about the mess?"

"Alphonse can clean it up." It wasn't as if the other alchemist had been doing anything for the past three days. And it would be useful to have him distracted. "Get Miss Rockbell back to the colonel's house safely."

"The automail," Fletcher said automatically. "We need to take it out or the guards'll catch on."

The mention of it seemed to spur Winry into action. She shoved off the wall, walking stiffly and without a word towards the foot of the bed, where the now-unnecessary limbs were still stacked, one on top of the other. She bent and gathered them, placing them carefully into the cart, and then straightened, facing Edward from the foot of the bed.

There were still tears on her cheeks, but her expression was angry. "Trust you to make me go to all this trouble for nothing," she growled at him. "Three days straight slaving away on this stuff for you, and you go and – and –"

She shuddered, holding back a sob, and quickly wiped her eyes. "I've never lost a customer like this," she admitted with a laugh. "Aunt Pinako is going to be so disappointed."

"Winry –" Al reached out towards her, but she shook her head sharply.

"Tell him when he wakes up that I'm going to kill him," she instructed the taller man. "And did you guys have to wreck the port? It was a perfectly good piece of equipment!"

Mustang glanced towards the spot Edward had first appeared, noting the color and consistency of the debris that still showed the outline of where the body had been laying.

Of course. If she'd installed the port, it had to go somewhere.

Why it would have disintegrated . . . had Edward done that unconsciously to prevent it from shearing off his newly-reattached arm?

Fletcher helped her free the cart from the debris around it, and they were mostly out the door before Russell turned to look over his shoulder.

"We're going to head home as soon as we drop Winry off. If you need anything, call us."

He wasn't sure whether the alchemist was speaking to him or to Al, but he responded with a nod, and then the door was closed, and the rumbling of the cart grew more and more distant.

Havoc had managed to keep the guards at their station. Good.

"You should probably get cleaned up," Roy quietly suggested, glancing around the room even as Al settled on the side of the bed beside his brother. "There's a full set of pajamas in the bathroom as well."

"I'm sorry," Alphonse responded, tucking the sheet a little closer around his brother's shoulders. "I didn't think that we'd end up back here."

Mustang noted a pitcher and basin on the corner table, and walked over to make sure the pitcher was full. "You intended to die there?"

There was the soft sound of the mattress shifting as Al stood. "Alchemy doesn't really exist in that world, but it can be performed if . . ." He trailed off, and for a moment, Roy wasn't sure he was going to continue. "If there are human deaths to power the reaction."

Mustang turned away from the corner and faced Alphonse Elric. He was looking at the floor, studying the transmutation circle that had restored his body as if he'd never seen anything like it.

It was still so hard to separate this man from the boy he'd last seen.

"They're worse than we are," Al finally continued, not looking up. "Worse than Amestris was even when Pride was leading the country. They don't have alchemists, have human weapons to slaughter people, so they use gas, and automatic guns, and . . . and they knew what it was. The bomb," he clarified, when he realized his audience might not have followed the leap in thought.

"They were conducting human research experiments too. Trying to manufacture supersoldiers, like they manufacture everything else. Only they can't use human death for any other purpose." His voice was hard, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "When I found him, I overheard his guards talking about the next 'batch.' Like they were loaves of bread."

Al scuffed at the chalk circle with a bare toe. "I didn't know when they'd die, so I drew a seven-pointed circle. I thought, if nothing else, my death would fully decompose the bomb. I didn't realize . . . it would be so easy to summon the Gate."

Mustang just watched him, silently, and when Al looked up, he could see the younger man was on the verge of tears.

"I'm so sorry."

Obviously he'd overhead enough of the day's events, even if he couldn't respond to them.

Roy regarded him for a long moment. "You gave Sheska quite a start." He knew damn well what Al was apologizing for, but now didn't seem the time to point out he'd been the one to give him that second shot at leading the country to begin with. "Get cleaned up."

Al stared at him, clearly expecting something else, but when he didn't get it, he just looked back at his brother.

"How long did they have him?" Though he supposed it really didn't matter. Patterson had told him what Ed had been through, which meant he'd probably slipped into this waking coma a few hours into it. No matter how long they'd kept on him, Ed had stopped being aware of the pain at that point.

He'd stopped being aware of anything.

"Two days maximum." The man regarded his brother for another long moment, then shuffled off obediently towards the bathroom, off the main entrance to his room. He paused at the door, contemplating his next words.

"What happens now?"

That was a good question. "A military psychologist will see him in the morning. Hakuro's not terribly fond of alchemists anymore, but he's still knowledgeable. He'll figure out what went on this evening." Ed having restored his body would absolutely be proof of forbidden human transmutation, and he'd probably press charges the moment he heard the news.

Al was motionless a moment more, then entered the bathroom. The door closed softly behind him.

He wouldn't be charged, of course. Al had been unable to do anything about the fact that a National Alchemist and two others had performed a transmutation with him as their base. Rockbell would probably be fine as well, since it could be argued she didn't know what they were doing. Russell might be able to weasel his way out of it, but with Ed's record . . .

Mustang turned around, picking up the basin and pitcher, and carried them over to the bed. Ed had been laid out in the center, and Roy pushed the pillow back to make room for the basin. It was a deep one, meant for giving convalescent patients sponge baths. Technically, since Edward had been out for three days, drenched in the odd light sweat that unceasing pain caused, he could use one.

Roy emptied the pitcher into the basin, a little disappointed when the depth only proved to be a couple inches. He placed the pitcher on the floor, donning his right glove and using the transmutation circle there to pull some humidity from the air. Once he was satisfied with the depth of water in the basin, he gave Ed a once-over.

Despite the fact that he'd been missing the limbs since he was a child, they were the right length, as though they'd grown on his body naturally. And despite the fact that his shoulder had been 'trimmed' to cut back the dead nerves and fit him with a new automail port, he didn't appear to be 'missing' that flesh.

Al had said the Gate 'owed' them. That violated the idea of equivalent trade, but then again, the idea that there were beings inside the Gate itself . . . Roy shook his head slightly. Only twice had he been tempted to see it himself. Once after the Ishbal conflict, and once after Hughes was killed.

Ed had carefully left that detail out of his reports, but he'd described the Gate's 'temperament' in some of his notes. It did seem to have a mind of its own, and it did seem to channel vast amounts of energy. It had kept Alphonse's body in one piece, he supposed, since Ed had not had any materials with which to construct a new one when he'd resurrected his brother. He'd obviously not used his own body as a source for those ingredients since he was still in it, after all. If the Gate could hold a body for several years, there was no reason to think that it couldn't 'age' his limbs to the appropriate year. Or attach them properly.

And there was no reason to think he was otherwise injured. Outside of his mental state, he appeared perfectly healthy.

Mustang threw back the sheet Alphonse had so carefully tucked around his brother, exposing him to the waist. Winry – or maybe his attending nurse – had braided his hair to keep it out of their way, and it provided an excellent handle. Roy slipped his left hand beneath Ed's head, got a firm hold, and then lifted. The man didn't resist at all as he was turned, and Mustang planted him face-first into the basin of water.

They remained that way maybe thirty seconds before there was the sound of a door opening, and Alphonse Elric stepped back into the room.

- x -

He felt much better after washing his face and putting on the fresh pajamas the hospital had laid out for him. But while the shower called to him, and he certainly smelled rank enough to warrant taking one, he couldn't justify the time.

Mustang hadn't come down here to babysit his brother, after all. Originally, Havoc had called him down to identify the symbols he'd drawn. Obviously that was unnecessary at this point. They'd already ruined Roy's chance at the Prime Minister's seat, there was no point in taking up his evening, as well.

It was amazing that his career had recovered enough to even give him that shot at redeeming himself, and their meddling had ruined this second chance. If they hadn't involved him to the point they had to begin with, he never would have –

Alphonse rubbed his face vigorously, and opened the bathroom door. That wasn't true. The moment Hughes got involved, that was really the beginning of the end for all of them. He was glad to know that Hawkeye had kept all the other officers together, and now that he had his memories back, it was still amazing to him that she'd had the patience to let Mustang waste those four years in despair.

They couldn't let him do that again. There had to be a way to fight Hakuro on this. Stealing the bomb wasn't going to solve this problem, they had to somehow invalidate the research –

Which was going to be hard, because he and Ed knew the bomb was really capable of doing what Huskisson had said it was, all those years ago.

And even if they got rid of this one, someone would eventually make another. If the research department had had a couple days with it, they had enough information for a physicist to move forward on the theory. Even if they couldn't mine uranium, there had to be other elements out there with similar properties.

Al shuffled out of the bathroom, glancing into the main room to make sure Ed hadn't suddenly woken up and taken off. It took him a second to figure out what he was seeing.

It appeared Mustang had lost patience in trying to wake his brother, and had resorted to dunking his head in water.

It wouldn't work. Nothing had roused nii-san. When he'd found him lying on that filthy cot, he'd done everything. Shouted. Whispered. Begged. Ordered. Even slapping him had gotten no response at all. He had literally been like Nina, a soulless doll that breathed and blinked and yet was completely empty. Al had had to shoot the two guards on the cell block, and even the report of the Luger pistol hadn't fazed him. When Al had taken the second shot, the one to his throat, his blood had spattered on his brother's face.

Even that had gotten no response. There was no way a little water would do what a life-threatening situation couldn't.

He blinked as he noticed Mustang wasn't exactly dunking his brother. A few seconds passed, then a few more.

Mustang was actually holding him under the water.

He took a few steps closer, still not believing, and Mustang cocked his head back, regarding him with his good eye.

"What are you-"

"Leave the room, Alphonse." His voice was hard and flat.

Ed still hadn't so much as twitched. He'd been turned onto his right side, and his left arm had actually fallen behind his back. His right hand was trapped beneath his body, but his fingers were visible and they were relaxed. He was making no effort to free himself.

He wasn't going to, either. He was going to drown.

Mustang was going to drown him.

"Roy –"

The man lifted his right hand, and Al was stunned to see it was gloved. His thumb rested lightly against the inside of his middle finger. "Stay where you are or get out."

There was a soft bubbling sound.

Al started forward again, and was startled when there was a brief pop, right in front of his face. The small wave of heat it had created hit his skin a second later, and he froze, staring in disbelief.

Another bubbling noise.

"He's drowning!" This couldn't be happening. What in the hell was he playing at? What did he kn–

Actually, the Flame Alchemist probably knew a pretty good bit about rousing people out of pain-induced stupors. Considering they'd seen him inflict both serious and light burns on more than one criminal in the time Ed was a National Alchemist, he'd obviously had some experience with burning live people.

Probably during the Ishbal slaughter, actually.

He'd likely reduced enemies to the same state Ed was in now. It would only make sense he'd also learned how to snap them out of it. At least for interrogation purposes.

Mustang seemed to conclude that Al wasn't going to interfere further, because he turned back to Ed. "Fight me, Fullmetal," he growled.

Ed was making no movement to do so.

"Fight me!" he repeated, giving Ed's head a good shake. There was another watery sound, and suddenly Ed's body jerked.

He was trying to cough.

"Mustang-!" Al started forward again, and again, Roy raised his right hand. He didn't let Ed up, didn't let him get any air.

"Fight, dog!"

Funny, that he still knew Ed would hate that name more than all the short references in the world.

Ed's left arm moved quite suddenly, slithering in front of his body to brace uncoordinatedly on the mattress. For the first time, he seemed to be responding to outside stimuli.

But very weakly.

"You need to do better than that," Mustang hissed. "Fight, Fullmetal! Fight or die!"

"That's long enough!" Al brought his hands together. If nothing else, he'd briefly clear the air around him of oxygen. This was going too far -

Ed's legs shifted beneath the sheet, and he turned slightly into the bed, freeing up his right hand. Roy was now having visible difficulty keeping Ed's face beneath the shallow water in the basin. But it was also clear that Ed was starting to inhale water.

Al advanced on them. "Let him go!"

Edward shook his head, strongly enough that he managed to slosh a significant amount of water, and his left arm came up, groping at the hand that was on the top of his head. As soon as he figured out what it was, he dug his fingernails into that hand and started yanking. He was also starting to curl his knees under him. In a moment he'd have the leverage he needed, but he was probably close to passing out -

Mustang relented, hurling Ed's head back towards the pillow. For a moment, Al was frozen, watching as his brother gagged and choked into the mattress.

He was still breathing.

Then Al was behind Mustang, wrapping his hand around the older man's to prevent him from using the ignition cloth. With his other, he grabbed the back of Mustang's uniform and hauled him back several feet. He had raised his fist before he really knew what he intended to do with it, but it was clear that Roy was making no move to defend himself from the anticipated strike.

Six years ago, he would have pulverized someone for doing that to his brother.

"Was that really necessary?" he heard himself force between his teeth.

Mustang was just watching him with that unreadable eye. "He was no longer capable of feeling pain," the man replied conversationally, as though they were sitting down to lunch together. "The only way to snap him out of it was to elicit an instinctive response, but it had to be one triggered by something other than pain."

They stayed like that for several seconds, regarding one another, before Al dropped his hand, and released the major general with slightly more force than was necessary. There was no doubt waking Ed up sooner than later was a good thing, but had there really been no other way? Why hadn't he given him a day or so to at least try to recover on his own?

Or was that a test? To make Ed realize he still wanted to keep on living, despite what he'd remembered?

It had to have been horrible, but surely it hadn't made Ed want to die. Had it?

Edward hacked up a particular noisy glob of water, and then collapsed back against the soggy mattress, gasping. Al didn't trust himself to continue looking at Mustang's calm face without attempting to rearrange it, so he ignored the man, turning to Edward as he really started to look around.

It was clear that nii-san had no idea where he was. His eyes were wide and wild, and he was unconsciously favoring his right arm. Did it hurt him? His own body had felt odd when he'd woken in it, in that ancient church beneath Central, but it hadn't necessarily hurt.

"Nii-san?"

Ed swallowed another cough, sitting up with a start and bracing his back against the wall. He seemed to recognize them, because he took the time to wipe at his eyes – with his right hand.

"You're in the hospital," Mustang told him.

Ed shook his head slightly, as if trying to sling water out of his ears, and held his breath a moment. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

"But . . . not safe, huh."

Al blinked. Was he . . .joking?

"Nii-san!"

He held up a hand, rubbing his eyes more vigorously. "I'm . . . I'm fine, Al." His voice was still quite hoarse, and he was starting to shake all over. "It's fine."

"It isn't," Mustang corrected him. "You performed human transmutation in a military hospital, Fullmetal. As soon as your condition is reported to Hakuro, you will be placed under arrest and confined in –"

Ed started to laugh, a little hollowly, and then coughed. Al just turned on the major general, furiously. "That was your reason-"

"You both need to leave as soon as possible," Roy interrupted him. "The Tringums can hide you for the night, but their home will be one of the first places searched. The military presence in the south is currently pretty light."

So that was it? He'd forced Edward to come back to reality, to face his memories just so they could flee south?

"We can't do that," Al said crossly, grabbing the dry, light blanket at the end of the bed and tossing it around his brother. Ed seemed grateful for it, and pulled it around his shoulders. His shaking was more pronounced, but he didn't seem to be holding his right arm anymore.

Just like he remembered what had happened in Germany, he also remembered what had happened since.

Mustang looked sideways at Al. "You don't have a choice."

"You're forgetting something, Major General." He reached around the older alchemist and grabbed the basin, debating dumping it over the man's head. And to think he'd been feeling sorry for this bastard. Now he knew why Ed had always gotten so fed up with him.

"We came here to get rid of that bomb."

Mustang turned to fully face him. "Don't be ridiculous. Even if you destroy the bomb and stop the vote tomorrow, Hakuro will fund the research and development of another one."

Al returned the basin to the table, giving the room a once-over before clapping his hands. He'd always preferred tidiness over mess.

"Actually, that's not true," he responded, kneeling and placing his palms on the floor. He erased the transmutation circle and combined all the spilled ingredients into a single lump. Then he stood, walking over to the dense, shapeless glob and picking it up. It was pretty hefty, all things considered. He tossed it at the major general, who reflexively caught it.

"Is the research department still two blocks from Warehouse Six?"

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, it took me a long time to set that up, huh. Only a few more chapters to go. After all, Al has a plan . . . and then, roses. Really! I found a really good, embarrassing typo on my read-through, so I know there are probably more in there, and I apologize! Thank you all very much for the reviews and plot suggestions – I've only got a couple more to wrap up, and then we should be good!

Liah – in the fansub I watched, the Tringum's name was spelled with a U. Also, according to Wikipedia, that's the most commonly accepted spelling of their name. Since they were pretty minor in the anime and I've only read the manga up to about issue 16, I don't know where else their name may have been mentioned, but I assume the spelling differed depending on which fansubs or properly released subs/dubs you watched. I'm going to keep the spelling Tringum, but thank you for bringing it to my attention!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"On Friday morning at 3:17 am, an experimental device detonated within the People's Research Facility in Central, mere hours before Parliament was to vote on its use in the ongoing conflicts in northern Amestris."

"That's a very impressive sentence," Vato noted from the other side of a steaming mug of coffee.

"Isn't it though." Breda shook his head as he scanned the rest of the headline article. It was a collection of very impressive sentences, all told. Considering he was standing in Mustang's offices in Central, less than three miles from the detonation site, and everyone knew the bomb was supposed to have obliterated the entire city with several towns to spare.

"Was anyone injured?" First Lieutenant Ross looked significantly more alert than Falman, but then again, she'd been the one making the second pot of coffee when he'd stumbled in around three-thirty, which meant she'd probably consumed the first one almost entirely herself.

Injuries . . . he scanned the newspaper until he came to the fifth paragraph. "The detonation injured three technicians and two doctors. They are undergoing treatment in the local military hospital, and are expected to make full recoveries."

"That was unfortunate," Denny noted quietly from his desk, spreading jam on a piece of toast. "Someone could have been seriously injured."

"Well, someone had to witness that the bomb went off by itself," Breda pointed out. "Otherwise there'd be merit to sabotage claims, and the whole thing would just get messier."

"And did they?"

The article went on to quote several top-ranking Parliament representatives and General Hakuro himself, but ultimately it really had no other useful information. "Doesn't say. Hakuro is launching a full investigation, but we'd have heard something by now if it had gone south."

"If what had gone south?"

None of the officers snapped to attention, but it didn't seem to bother the colonel. She located the pot of coffee and a mug, helped herself, and dropped into a chair at the conference table besides Falman. For a moment, the only sound was Sheska, diligently working behind her typewriter.

"The investigation into the detonation in Research," Brosh finally replied airily. "But I'm sure after all that playing around with it they did, it was only a matter of time before it went off. Bad job all around."

Hawkeye just blew on the surface of her coffee, trying to cool the hot liquid and ignoring the implied question in Denny's comment. "I'm certain that is what his investigation will reveal," she agreed distractedly.

"In fact," Maria said carefully from the opposite side of the table, "given the comments from Parliament, it looks as though they're finding the entire situation quite embarrassing."

"Of course. They can't pass a budget resolution in less than a month, but offer them a doomsday weapon and they can convene and pass legislation in three days?" Vato made a derisive noise. "Then their magical weapon goes off in the middle of the night and doesn't destroy a single building? I wouldn't be surprised if they barred further research into that kind of technology altogether."

"It really was a shame General Hakuro's technician involved the Parliament," Kain offered, coming in from the small kitchenette area with more toast. "If it had remained a purely military investigation, the press never would have gotten a hold of it."

He offered the plate to Maria, who accepted a slice, and began to pass the platter around.

"When Amestris' neighbors read this . . ." Heymans Breda shook out the paper and laid it on the table, taking a piece of toast from the pile. "I wouldn't want to be the General this morning."

From down the entrance hall, the door chime rang out.

Sheska unwound herself from behind the typewriter, hurrying over to the main door. Her squeak gave everyone else in the main room just enough time to set down their coffee and breakfast before none other than General Hakuro himself stalked into the offices.

Unlike when the colonel had trudged in, everyone – including Hawkeye – leapt to their feet with crisp salutes.

"Good morning, General, sir!" she barked, the hints of a pleasant smile on her face.

He surveyed the room even as his two lieutenants marched in from the hallway. "Where is he?"

"To whom are you referring, sir!"

Hakuro looked rough. His salt and pepper hair looked as lackluster as his skin tone, and the haggard wrinkles around his mouth and eyes told of a long night. None of the officers could drum up a single thought of sympathy, however, considering they too had been dragged from warm beds far too early in the morning with the news that the bomb had gone off.

However, once the damage reports came in, there hadn't been much for them to do. One laboratory was wrecked, but the structure was completely stable. Windows had been broken, lab benches scattered and destroyed, but outside of that, the bomb had proven to be significantly weaker than even a regular armor mortar.

The general, on the other hand, had probably been scrambling all over Central in a mad – and hopeless – attempt to redeem himself.

His men had involved Parliament. He had pushed for the bomb test. He had promised that his physicists could replicate the bomb.

Who wanted to replicate something that had proven to be so ineffective? And apparently the material it had been created with, uranium, was extremely toxic and very dangerous to mine and refine. The costs of manufacturing these types of bombs seemed to far outweigh their value.

Yes, it seemed like all the General's promises had gone up in smoke, literally. It really was a pity, with the Prime Minister elections coming up, that he had embarrassed the Parliament so completely.

"Don't get smart with me, colonel," Hakuro growled, coming to stand within inches of the still-saluting Hawkeye. "You know exactly –"

"What's all the noise?"

No one had heard his door open, but all eyes turned to see the Major General standing in his doorframe. His uniform was straight but slightly wrinkled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He didn't exactly snap to attention; Breda wasn't sure if that was to show disrespect to the General or because he was currently too stiff to do so. He still pulled himself to attention and saluted, but the motion lacked much energy.

Hakuro didn't appear to interpret it as a slight, and he turned dismissively from the colonel to the major general, waiting until they were nearly nose to nose before he spoke again.

"You're behind this somehow, Mustang. I'm sure of it."

The major general didn't even smirk. His expression was almost like it had been four years ago, when they'd visited him at the northern outpost. Weary.

Breda knew he'd been holed up in his office since they'd all gotten in, but he wasn't sure Mustang could really account for all his time last night. Unless someone had been in the office to see him –

Then again, he really wasn't completely, entirely sure that Mustang was responsible for this. For one, if he'd somehow rigged the bomb, he was pretty sure the colonel would have shot him by now for taking the risk. Even if it had been successful.

Besides, how would you rig something like that? Was the bomb simply a dud? Wouldn't there be evidence that it had been tampered with, even if he was an alchemist?

"Nothing to say?" Hakuro demanded, after a long silence.

Mustang just lowered his hand. He remained in parade rest, dealing with the general as he always did – by the book. "I don't know to what you're referring, General," he answered, because in this case he had to say something. His tone wasn't particularly animated.

"You know damn well what I'm referring to." Hakuro's self-control was visibly frayed. "And I'll prove it."

Roy's eyebrows quirked slightly, but otherwise he had no outward reaction. "If the general is referring to the unfortunate incident in Research, I would suggest he inspect the visitor's log in the hospital, the base access log, and interviews my staff. I believe the general would find all my time accounted for, sir."

Oh, of course. When he left Al's room last night the guard would have made note, and when he entered this area of the base to head back to his office, the guard station would have recorded his vehicle's passing. So long as the span of time between was reasonable, they'd call it travel time. And with the offices being almost three miles away, it would have taken him at least twenty minutes to get there and back, and it left little time for sabotaging something secure enough that so many people were working on it at three in the morning.

Then again, the major figured he shouldn't be surprised. Mustang had always come up with excellent plans, he was just getting a little better at sticking to them.

Of course, if his time really was all accounted for, that begged the question of what had really happened . . . was the bomb really a dud?

"That's a lot of overtime to work," the general murmured thoughtfully. "I wonder, might I see what you were working on all night, Major General?"

Mustang bowed at the waist, and disappeared into his office. Hakuro did not follow him, but Roy reappeared fairly quickly with a sizable vanilla folder filled with papers and reports.

"Alphonse Elric briefly regained consciousness last night, sir, and was able to give the lieutenant colonel and me some information on enemy movements over the past four years." He offered the gathered paperwork, and with a sharp nod from the general one of his lieutenants accepted it.

"Is that so."

Mustang bowed again, again at the waist. He was laying it on thick. "It was Elric's belief that he had permanently sealed the enemy's gate to our country, but he was not able to give me the exact details before he lost consciousness again. I spent the evening drawing up probabilities and analyzing the technique he described using to determine if it was sufficient. My findings are summarized at the end of the report, sir."

The lieutenant flipped open the folder, showing the top documents to the general, and Breda caught sight of something that looked very much like a transmutation circle before the general returned his glare to the major general.

"If they closed the Gate to this world, then did Alphonse Elric have an explanation as to how he and his brother managed to return here?"

Hawkeye's expression darkened slightly, and after a moment, Heymans caught on. If he couldn't get Mustang, he'd go after the Elrics?

"The Law of Equivalent Exchange," Mustang replied. "The last of the invading forces died in custody a few weeks ago. Since we no longer had that side's forces, ours were returned as well. Alphonse Elric had transmuted a piece of his soul into one of the armors in my hallway when he and Edward speared the commanding airship four years ago, so his soul was drawn back to a place it had previously occupied."

Hakuro had spent the better part of the last four years slowly weeding subordinate alchemists out of his command, blaming them for his failure to defeat . . . well, Havoc, during the Northern Rebellion. So the General would now be hard-pressed to call whatever Roy had scribbled on those pages bunk. At least not in the very near future.

And even to Breda's admittedly ignorant ears, that sounded like a great big pile of bunk. He'd buy that Al had transmuted that particular suit of armor and that was why he'd suddenly appeared in it, but that there was some natural law that had just sucked him right back here . . . and the time discrepancy . . . and the fact that Ed had come along . . .

Mustang must have been tired indeed.

Or maybe he really was teasing the general.

Hakuro seemed to sense that the line of crap he'd just been fed was exactly that – crap. "I'll have your findings analyzed. Are you certain you don't want to look them over one more time before submitting this report?"

Mustang remained motionless. "No, sir. You will find everything in order."

"You and I both know the Elrics were directly responsible for the damages and casualties suffered during the Thule invasion," the general growled. "If they were so careless as to invite the enemy to attack us again from within Central herself, I will have them charged with treason and executed."

Roy bowed again.

Breda was about to open his mouth when Riza moved very suddenly, directly in front of him.

This was going too far. He'd seen Roy fight the general fair and square, but now it just seemed like he was letting himself be bullied, and that was going to make Hakuro think he was guilty –

So he was doing that on purpose.

If he'd really done something, why would he be acting like he had?

There was a quick answer; he wouldn't. So Mustang was covering for someone else. He knew damn well what had happened, and he was willing to take the heat for it.

. . . because there was no way the General could prove that Mustang had done it. He'd spend all his resources going over every second that bomb could have been touched by Mustang, and ignoring the real culprit.

Hakuro seemed off-put by Mustang's quiet acceptance of his little speech. In reality, by the time the Elrics were charged and a trial had taken place, the Prime Minister would have been elected, and probably had say over the penalty. Assuming that was Mustang, the Elrics really had nothing to worry about.

"And speaking of the Elrics," he pressed, "I will be taking jurisdiction over their case."

At that the familiar spark reappeared in Roy's eye. "Of course, sir. Might I inquire why?"

"You may not," he snapped, pleased to have been able to refuse something. "You're dismissed. Remain in Central until further notice."

Mustang again saluted, and when he said nothing else, Hakuro eventually turned and stormed out of the offices. All the officers waited until the front door chimes rang out, followed by a slam so powerful one of the suits of armor clanked in protest.

As one, they slumped back to their seats. All but the colonel and the major general.

Riza was watching her commanding officer carefully, and as soon as he saw it the major didn't study it any further. Something was going on, and they were being left in the dark. He'd been there before, and it had usually turned out for the best, but now . . .

"Falman, Breda. Your duties herefore are being restricted to escorting the major general until the completion of the Parliament's elections."

Roy raised an eyebrow. Breda and Falman glanced at one another, then sat up straight in their chairs and saluted. "Aye, sir!"

Mustang didn't even argue it. He just leaned on his doorframe and jammed his hands into his pockets, watching them all. He stared at them for such a long time that Breda was beginning to think he'd fallen asleep with his eye open. When he spoke, his voice was thick and slow.

"Keep your heads down and your paperwork clean. Assume you will be put under surveillance beginning the moment you leave these offices today. Falman, Breda, consider the colonel's orders to be a request."

Heymans Breda glanced again at Vato, finding the solemn man had done the same. Roy didn't usually come right out and say those sorts of things. Hakuro was a lot of things, but he didn't seem dirty enough to start picking off officers. And it would be terribly obvious if he tried to reassign all of Mustang's subordinates so close to the elections.

"Duly noted," Vato rumbled for both of them.

Mustang just gave the room another once-over, and then turned on his heels and re-entered his office. The door closed with a soft click.

The officers glanced around at each other for a moment, and Riza came back to the table and stiffly took her seat.

"Are you going to tell us what happened?" Maria asked the other woman lightly.

Hawkeye picked her coffee mug back up and stared at the dark liquid as if it was doing something interesting. "The general suffered a very deep disappointment today," she replied. "It would be unfortunate at this juncture if any accidents were to happen. No one walks alone at night, even on base. I assume the committee will shortly raise the security level citywide, to combat any advantage our enemies believe they may have after the failed bomb test."

"What about Ed and Al?" Denny was toying with his cold slice of half-eaten toast. "Is it safe to leave them with Hakuro?"

The colonel took a sip of the liquid, then made a face. "I wish the rest of you liked tea," she muttered, and then paused. "As for the Elrics, I believe they'll be released later today."

The conference table was quiet a moment.

"Because . . ."

Sheska tapped a couple papers neatly on the conference room table, and looked inordinately pleased with herself. "Because the Amestris military has no legal right to hold them or charge them in an investigation."

Breda stared at her. "Because . . ."

She held up the papers she'd just arranged. "Because they've been legally dead for years," she replied.

Beside him, Denny began to laugh. "That's right. Ed was declared missing presumed dead immediately after the Lior incident, and Alphonse was tacked onto the missing presumed dead citizens' list after the Thule invasion."

Sheska folded the papers and tucked them into an envelope. So that's what she'd been typing up since four am. "First their identities need to be confirmed, followed by their birth confirmed – which, by the way, will be almost impossible, as their parents are dead and Ed's birth records were lost with all the other National Alchemists' when the First Library burned."

"So they're untouchable until at least after the elections."

Maria grinned broadly. "This is excellent news! Do they know?"

The colonel nodded, adding another packet of sugar to her coffee. "Havoc told them they were both dead earlier this morning, and also notified their physician."

Breda whistled. "The lieutenant colonel's been on duty for pretty much forty-eight hours straight."

Hawkeye stirred her coffee and tried it again. "He will be relieved shortly by Hakuro's men," she assured him. "The rest of you, be sure to work your full shifts, and do not get caught without something to do."

So much for the sugar sweetening her up.

- x -

"Try it now."

He obediently moved the arm, and she listened carefully to the metal. She was pretty sure no matter how they did this the elbow joint was going to pinch his skin, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. It was a design flaw, and they didn't really have time to correct it. She'd have to redesign the entire middle joint, and of course, there'd need to be more room for the suspension system –

Winry tucked her pony tail behind her and bent over the tablet, scribbling down some more notes. Her eyes ached, but she didn't dare close them for another second more than was necessary.

Frankly, she was surprised she'd even been given _this_ much time, and unless he was really careful with it, he was going to break it within the first ten minutes of waving it around. God help them if he decided to use it like he had the old automail –

"It's great," he said tonelessly, letting the metal limb drop back to the mattress.

"Keep in mind the real thing's going to be a little thicker, and a little heavier," she said aloud for probably the fifth time. "You're going to need to work your left harder to keep yourself from looking like an idiot."

"Do you really think that'll help?"

Winry gripped the pencil harder. She wasn't sure what was worse; his silence or his attempt at jokes. She was just too . . . tired for this.

She was so tired.

"Give them a spin," and she waved vaguely at the room, keeping her head down and near the paper. She just needed to stay focused until she was sure the rigged armor wasn't going to fall off him during normal use, and then she could go back to Riza's, get some sleep, and head straight back to Resembool.

He clomped rather metallically around the room, but the sound was surprisingly . . . akin to real automail. Badly tuned, cheaply made, poorly designed automail, but automail all the same. She never would have thought they'd be able to get it so convincing-looking in four hours, but there was no doubt it wouldn't hold up to combat.

Hell, properly designed, full automail didn't stand up to combat with Ed. Then again, at least he'd be sparring another human being instead of a suit of armor.

Oh, crap. That was probably the first thing the brothers would try to do. They always did that. And Al with his body finally fixed –

"You can't spar Al in that," she said aloud, just in case it wasn't implied.

"I can't spar Al now anyway," he answered dully. "I'm still not allowed in his ward."

She decided not to remind him that the poor lieutenant colonel had visited them not two hours ago with the news that they'd both be released that day anyway, and once they went into 'private care' Al could magically recover.

"All right. Take it off and put it back on."

He rattled back over to the bed, sitting lightly on the mattress and fingering the metal that covered his right arm and left leg. She had to admit it was a good idea, fooling the rest of the world into thinking his limbs were still missing. Riza got lots of points for suggesting it. It just sucked that they'd gotten about an hour and a half of sleep between the two pots of tea they'd drank and getting that phone call at three-thirty in the freakin' morning.

She was not a morning person, necessarily, but she was accustomed to sleeping odd hours. And she was also keyed to the ringing of a telephone. Once she heard it, she was up, and there was nothing that could be done about it. So when she'd stumbled bleary-eyed into the hallway and found the colonel hurriedly pulling on her uniform jacket, she'd abandoned all hope of going back to sleep.

But again, if she wasn't dealing with an alchemist, she could never have fashioned hollow automail in four hours.

She hoped Rush Valley never got wind of what she'd done here. It would change automail manufacturing forever.

Ed was getting better at removing the pieces, and she glanced at her watch, timing him. Despite that fact that he moved like he was in a dream, he still got everything off and back on again in a little under thirty seconds.

And again, this was the beta design. When she perfected the mechanism, it would be easier to get in and out of, and significantly support his motions.

Winry Rockbell leaned back as far as she could on the backless stool and regarded Edward a moment. He was adjusting one of the inside straps, but as soon as he clipped down the adjustment door, it was impossible to tell that the arm was really nothing more than four millimeters of metal, perfectly shaped to match his real arm underneath.

Which was good, because they hadn't told Patterson that he'd recovered his limbs, and there was some chance the meddling doctor would check her work over.

This was not going to stop him from looking for inflammation at the imaginary ports, however. She hadn't figured that one out yet. Wasn't the doctor a friend of one of Mustang's subordinates . . .? Maybe he'd just play along.

"It'll probably take me a week to get the first real beta model built," she continued, when he just sat there silently, staring at the wall across from him. "Do you think you'll be coming to the shop, or do I need to bring it here?"

Ed took a breath, then looked at her squarely. "Why are you doing this, Winry?"

She blinked, completely taken aback. He was really looking at her, with those sad eyes, and he was asking her why she was helping him?

She picked up a wrench before she remembered that she couldn't beat on his automail – she'd dent it. "Because this is the only way I can keep my favorite cash cow," she snarled. "As ungrateful as you are about all the time I've spent on this, you can be sure that the new mechanism will cost as much as the full automail limbs. There's a lot of design and precision that's going to go into the strength amplification, and of course I'll have to train you how to use it –"

"Why are you here?"

She trailed off, unsure of how to respond. What was he really asking? Was he asking why she'd just sacrificed a week to no sleep, little food, possible mortal danger, and as much emotional turmoil as she could possibly stand for him? For the brother that never confided in her, never said goodbye, and left her so thoughtlessly behind, over and over again?

Because that was a really fucking stupid question. And no matter what he'd been through, he should have known better than to doubt _that_. Doubt _her._

The door slammed open, making her jump, and Winry completely lost it. "WHY CAN'T YOU PEOPLE LEARN TO-"

But as she turned, looking at where the doctor's, or the soldier's, or the nurse's head should be, she found only an enormous chest. Her eyes trailed almost up to the ceiling before the muscular neck came into view, and the blonde curl on the top of his head brushed the doorframe as the tower of brigadier general powered into the room.

"EDWARD ELRIC!" the enormous Louis Armstrong cried joyfully, and before either one of them could do more than exchange a single look of dread, the Strong Arm Alchemist had enveloped Edward into a bear hug.

There was a very suspicious-sounding crack, and Winry wasn't quite sure whether it was the armor or Edward.

- x -

"He's an excellent physician. I'm sure you'll agree once you meet him," Patterson was prattling on, and it took every ounce of patience Al possessed not to just close his eyes and feign sleep.

Now that he could finally move, he couldn't. It was annoying beyond belief.

Alphonse Elric waited patiently, careful not to tense his muscles or otherwise show that he had any more motor function than he'd had the night before. The exams had been a little more difficult to withstand, now that he could feel when the doctor poked the sole of his foot with a needle, but he'd managed to clamp down on his reflexes pretty well.

If Edward could do it, so could he.

Al took a deep breath, wishing more than anything that he could just get up and walk down the hall. Havoc had come to visit him, and assured him that Winry and Hawkeye had hatched a plan to prevent Ed from being discovered, which was something. At least Winry was with him.

He just wasn't sure that was going to be enough.

What if they left Ed alone too long, and he spent too much time dwelling? Al knew it wasn't just the memory of the pain that was bothering his brother. It was the knowledge of the human experiments that had been going on under his nose.

Please, let them have been going on without his awareness. He didn't think Ed could hide that kind of thing from him, but in the last few months of their stay in Europe, he'd spent more time in the lab and less off the base –

If his brother had known about the experiments, and done nothing because it risked the bomb . . . no. Nii-san would never have made a decision like that.

If anything, he was kicking himself for not finding out about them sooner.

What if he became non-communicative again? What options were there that didn't include almost killing him?

Al resisted the urge to snort. He knew, intellectually, that Mustang had done what was best for Ed. And he'd done it unflinchingly. He was a good man, and he'd make a good Prime Minister. But he'd just been so damn matter-of-fact about it. It irritated him for some reason. At least he and Mustang had the same build – the major general's uniform had fit him almost as well as the long-distant Fritz Einheart's had.

Had that really been a week ago? A week ago he had been standing on another world, in a stolen uniform, attempting to destroy a bomb?

And in this world, he'd succeeded.

Al closed his eyes, not caring if it upset Patterson. He'd significantly weakened the protein cap on the battery that held the electrical charge necessary to start the fission reaction, but he hadn't meant for all those people to be in the lab when it went off. Memories of the dead miners flashed across his closed lids, forcing him to open them again. He'd rendered the uranium into several other materials, keeping the same mass, obviously, but he'd had to leave enough intact that it would be detected on the bomb remnants. It only needed to be decomposed a little bit.

Just like he'd only needed to be decomposed a little bit. An ounce, and suddenly the bomb was as worthless as his body had been.

But if those technicians got sick like the miners had –

It would be his fault.

He'd returned to the hospital and given back Mustang's uniform hours before the bomb had detonated. They'd pulled off the stripes, so it had just been a generic uniform on the off chance he had been stopped, but sneaking into the research facility had been even easier than the German one. As hesitant as he'd been to put Mustang in the position of taking the blame for this – or even being found in his hospital room wearing nothing but his boxers - it really had been a good plan.

He wasn't sure when he'd gotten so damn good at sneaking. Must have been nii-san's influence –

Al took a deep breath, blinking up as Patterson smiled and waved goodbye. He'd totally missed the man's last few sentences.

Oh well. He was certain whatever 'private doctor' had been chosen was someone loyal to Mustang, so at least it meant he could get up. Talk to Ed. Help him.

It would just take time. And since, technically, they were both dead, they were probably going to have a lot of it on their hands. Edward couldn't even check out books from the libraries – no identification card. No National Alchemist watch.

Al let his eyes wander over to the window, and he relaxed on the new, dry mattress, staring out at the blue morning sky.

His question to Mustang last night was still unanswered.

What now?

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Hahhaha! Look, a short chapter! To the point! Let's see . . . Hakuro is screwed, Ed is safe, Al is safe, the bomb is destroyed, the Parliament isn't going to fund any more in the near future . . . all that's really left is to wrap things up. I think I can do that! Next chapter, roses. Promise.

Thanks for sticking with this ridiculously long one-shot! I found . . . no typos on my read-through, which means I missed all of them. I'm sorry! Next chapter will cover some in-depth conversations explaining the Gate in more detail, some resolution between the brothers, the brothers and Winry, the brothers and Mustang, Mustang and the Parliament . . . all kinds of goodness! If you've got a question or a plothole you want wrapped up, this is your last chance to mention it!

. . . and against my better judgment, I'm also opening the floor up to pairings . . . just in case anyone requires one to have a truly happy ending . . .


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

This chapter is dedicated to Inkydoo, due to the fact that Ed and Al felt like doing so. She can consider it a belated birthday present if she'd like. ; )

- x -

"Nii-san?"

He didn't look up at the voice, just continued folding the clothes. It wasn't going to keep his attention for much longer; he really only had the set he was folding, and the ones on his back. His living quarters had always been his suitcase, and Al's things had been lost when he had been presumed dead.

That and the fact that his apartment had fallen into the gaping hole that hid the previous Central from the new one.

Ed shook his head slightly, trying to dislodge the mental image that came to mind whenever he thought about that place. Just as the Gate had shown him the future of Earth – with or without their uranium bomb – it had given him Amestris' past as well.

Of course, he'd been living with that information for years. When he'd died, the Gate had shown him the fall of that ancient city that lay beneath Central. The horrifying final moments of the people that had vanished when their city had become nothing more than a gigantic alchemy array.

That had been genius on the part of the alchemist the Homunculi had forced. He'd set up the array so that it remained intact while the pieces of the city not covered with lines had fallen through to the created cavern below. Just the pavement of the streets had been his array, so that not only did the entire city fall in one piece, but every single human being – even those in four or five story housing – passed through the flat of the circle and was absorbed.

Scar's array in Lior hadn't been nearly that efficient. Frank Archer had been proof of that.

And even more amazing, when the dust of that ancient city's collapse had settled, the streets looked like streets again. His array had vanished into the ages, only to be replaced with the Persian-like Great Arts or their own, almost Latin-looking alchemy.

Funny, how so many things had paralleled that world.

Even gypsies.

"Nii-san . . ."

"I'm almost ready," he replied, snapping the bag closed. Russell had been kind enough to lend them a satchel to carry the borrowed clothing, but it was made to carry substantially more than they had. The bottom held some of Fletcher's work clothes, and he had laid Russell's atop those.

All they had in the world.

As soon as he made some money – or transmuted some gold – he'd have a tailor make a few sets of clothing for them and return these to the Tringums.

They'd already taken so much.

"No hurry. I don't think the train leaves for another hour at least."

He'd thought as much, but his watch hadn't been working since they'd returned, so he'd gone ahead and packed it already. Apparently magnets didn't work quite the same here in Amestris as they did in Germany. Perhaps the poles were exactly the reverse here.

Or just not quite in the same place. The continents were vaguely the same on both planets, but Earth seemed to have suffered a cataclysmic event early in its history that had changed the way some of the tectonic plates had divided. The running theory had been some kind of asteroid impact, but apparently the same had not happened on their planet.

Which explained why the fossilized dinosaurs were missing. And that was kind of a shame, really, because dinosaurs were pretty damn cool, all things considering, and he could think of a few people he'd met in his lifetime in Amestris that would agree.

Winry probably would have loved dinosaurs. Especially the kind that flew. She'd probably have designed automail wings by now, given that she could have easily copied the bone structure –

Talk about flying too close to the sun.

Ed realized he was staring blankly at the bag, and he moved quickly, shaking its contents to settle them and placing it at the foot of the bed.

There was nothing else to do.

Again, his hands were empty.

He was going to have to find a way to prevent this from happening. If he didn't have something to do, he thought, and when he thought, he got quiet.

And he knew it was bothering Al.

"All packed."

He turned slowly to find his brother standing in the doorway, looking at him with those sad golden eyes. Ed flashed his brother a quick grin, but the slight smile he got in return was even less enthusiastic than usual.

It had been five days since they'd moved into the 'private care' of one Doctor Keeys, and as many days since they'd seen anyone. There was a military guard stationed outside the clinic, of course, but Hawkeye must have taken pity on her subordinates, because he'd not recognized a one of them. That was probably as much to protect the officers – and Mustang – as it was to protect them. Ed was pretty sure Hakuro wasn't going to try anything, but part of him was glad that he hadn't seen a familiar face besides Al's since –

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ed felt a more cynical smile trying to edge out onto his lips. His little brother had been doing a pretty good job of sidestepping everything, but apparently even his patience had an end. "No."

Al sighed, and leaned his head against the doorframe. "You need to leave it here, brother."

Ed just stared at Al. Really studied him. When he'd left Central in that airship, Al had been so young. The round face that he had wished so thoroughly that he could have seen in the reflection of the armor he'd bound that soul to. But in the blink of an eye, Al had been his right age, his proper age. Al had finally gotten the chance to live his life as a kid for a few more years, but he'd tossed it aside to study alchemy. To follow him.

Now he was beginning to think Al had done it again, when they'd slipped back here. Aged so much in the span of time it took them to traverse the Gate -

His mouth quirked. "I don't think I can, Al."

Quite the existential conversation they were having. He wondered briefly if they were on the same page.

Al put his hands in his pockets, looking quite at home in his borrowed clothing. Funny, that Fletcher had grown so tall. Taller even than his brother, probably because of the exposure to the red water at so young an age.

"We're home," he murmured, looking around the spartan but comfortable patient room Ed was assigned. "We can't go back to Earth. And there's no reason to. Our world is this one again."

"All is one and one is all," he heard himself say, before he really thought about it. God, but sometimes sensei's words sounded so empty.

He missed her. She would give him something . . . comforting to think of. Some riddle, something to tie his whizzing thoughts to. Something for him to ponder besides his own condition.

Back in Amestris, fully restored. Al, fully restored. No longer needing to pursue the Philosopher's Stone. And everything else about alchemy – everything he ever wanted to know, he did. Transmuting chimeras, making weapons, creating rivers and collapsing mountains. He could shift the world if someone gave him a big enough lever, isn't that what Archimedes had said?

Didn't he and Al have that lever?

And didn't they both know what it cost?

"That's true," his brother noted after a moment. "We're so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So insignificant we couldn't even save a little girl."

Ed almost reeled as the image of Nina flashed in his mind's eye, followed by the rush of helplessness he'd felt when he'd said those words. Why would Al use them now, use them like that -

"You couldn't save them," he said, when he saw that he'd gotten Ed's attention. "Neither could I. I couldn't even save you."

"Al . . ."

He shrugged. "I thought I was going to die. And leave you in that closet to be found by the ones that had hurt you." His voice became quiet. "I knew there was nothing I could do to help them. I didn't even try."

Ed turned away, eyes instinctively drawn to the window. Was that what Al thought was bothering him? The dozens of men and women – the gypsies – that had been corralled in the facility? The 'simulations' that had gone on, night after night, while he worked and studied and laughed with the other doctors?

If only it was that simple.

"If I had succeeded in destroying the bomb, we would both be dead," Al continued thoughtfully. "How many times have we escaped death now? Twice? Three times?"

Probably more than that, given their run-ins with Scar, the Homunculi, the Thules, the Germans . . . more times than they ought to have.

More times than they deserved.

"Doesn't this seem like a waste to you?"

Ed smiled emptily, because the alternative was unacceptable. He remained by the window. "When we were kids, I . . . I didn't think it would turn out like this." Ed looked down and studied his hands, surprised that they looked so clean in the light of day. His right arm was a little more pale, as it hadn't seen sunlight since Wrath had given it back to the Gate, but neither one belied what it had cost.

"People shouldn't have had to die for us. I never . . . I never wanted that."

"You're preaching to the choir, you know," Al reminded him gently.

"I know." Ed watched his hands – his perfect hands – curl into loose fists. Wishes were for children, and they weren't children anymore. People had died. A lot of them. And there were more on the way. There was nothing he could do about many of those deaths. He knew that.

He just didn't like it very much.

"When a soul is released from the body, a bond is broken, and energy is released." He would probably write it into a textbook, so all other alchemists would know what they were using when they made paper decorations and dolls for their friends. "That's the same principle Huskisson used to make the fission bomb."

Al just listened quietly.

"But he hadn't studied enough alchemy to know that. The theory of energy release when bonds are broken is constant in both sciences." Ed dropped his hands, staring at the windowsill instead. A lone red-shelled ladybug was making its way across the painted slat of wood.

"I didn't study enough medicine. I understood the physics, but I didn't apply the concept across sciences."

"Nii-san . . ." Al's voice sounded troubled.

The ladybug was tenaciously crossing the length of the sill, and he watched its progress. It was moving at a diagonal, not even the shortest distance between two points. "I told you three weeks ago that General Walther had assigned me to Dr. Klein. Originally, I was to continue my research on electrons to increase the distance communications could be sent along wire or radio waves, and his studies involved gases to develop new forms of artificial light."

Light bulbs. It was so ironic, that a symbol of cartoonists indicating their characters having epiphanies were depicted with light bulbs.

God, he'd been so stupid.

"You did," Al recalled. "You said he liked you because you reminded him of Napoleon." His brother very politely did not say _why_ Ed had reminded the doctor of the Frenchman, but he recalled the peals of laughter and a brief scuffling match when his little brother had dragged that detail out of him.

They'd laughed about it. It had been a joke.

"Klein was working on determining the weight of gases and their ability to displace air." He shook his head, slowly, and the ladybug paused. "I could never figure out why he was concerned about that when creating a light bulb, since the filament needed oxygen to at least begin reacting with electricity. We got into an argument over whether sulphur dioxide would displace more air in a ten by ten chamber than carbon monoxide would."

"Sulphur dioxide," Al echoed. His alchemy background told him what it was composed of.

But not what it was used for.

"Did you know that Napoleon supposedly used sulphur dioxide to gas rebellious slaves in the holds of cargo ships? Most of those holds were around ten by ten."

Al was silent.

"I didn't know why Walthers put me in that lab. I just knew it put me closer to the labs where we thought the uranium bomb was being studied." His voice was starting to shake, and he swallowed around his tight throat before he continued. "A few days before we came here, I became suspicious that the research wasn't for artificial light. I created some fake numbers, and when they didn't seem to notice, I confronted Klein, pointed out that the mixtures would suffocate the bulb filament."

"Nii-san . . ."

"So they told me what they were really studying. That Walthers felt mixing the physical and medical sciences would benefit Germany's goals. Possible methods for mass euthanasia of the 'useless eaters' that might put a social or fiscal burden on the country on its rise to power."

"That doesn't make you like Huskisson." Al's voice was hard. "You didn't know what your portion of the research was being used for. He did. He knew he was making something to destroy."

"The fake numbers, Al." The ladybug was still, as though frozen to the spot, listening to his confession. "They changed the ratio of gas to air enough to suffocate the filament. Klein used those as a production level to shoot for. That's what was going on in those cells below. They were trying to find ways to inexpensively produce sulphur dioxide in quantities that would match the current manufacturing capacity of carbon monoxide."

Al was silent for a long time.

"I know I didn't kill them, Al. And I know I couldn't save them." He'd tried. "I know the research would have been completed by someone else. It was just a lark, a competition with another doctor."

A slight breeze blew in from the street, and the ladybug's antenna twitched in its direction, tasting the air and withdrawing information.

"It was a consequence of my own goals. I wanted to prove that carbon monoxide was the better displacer. It never occurred to me to ask why. Why a ten by ten space when we were supposed to be talking about glass flasks."

Al remained quiet.

"I wanted the Philosopher's Stone to restore your body, Al." Ed closed his eyes. "No matter what, I wanted to give you back what you lost because of my confidence in the theory."

Ed took a breath. "But I also wanted to restore my own limbs. Automail could break down, and it hurt." He unconsciously opened and closed his right hand, concentrating on the sensation of it. "I wanted it no matter what. The consequences of what we discovered, who we shared it with, all of it . . . all is one and one is all. We couldn't predict, couldn't ever know how far-flung those consequences would be."

"So you're saying, now that you've met your goals, they weren't worth the price?"

"Your soul would eventually have left the armor." He was certain of it; they'd discussed his soul transmutation skill at length when they'd first arrived back in Europe. "You would have ceased to exist one day, with no warning. I don't regret any consequence of restoring you."

"That's because you're an idiot," Al told him quietly.

Ed chuckled, but it was a sound without mirth. "That's true," he admitted. "And so are you. What's the worst that could have happened to me, if I'd simply kept my automail limbs?"

He heard Al shift in the doorway. "You died, nii-san," his brother reminded him. "I used the Philosopher's Stone to bring back your soul. I traded my life for you, not for your limbs."

"I told you to take the Tringums and get out. They might never have remembered the Gate."

He heard his brother draw in breath to speak, but moment followed moment with no sound from him.

"I was so sure I could keep it, I could hang onto it because I'd done it before." Ed looked back at the sill, but the ladybug was gone as if it had never been.

"If I were a normal human, it would have been fine." He heard Al take a step into the room. "You didn't remember our conversations, nii-san."

"But you did. You told me not to risk it, and I overruled you."

"The Tringums are adults. They can decide to take their own risks. Just like all the other adults decided to take their own risks." Another step. "You can't take on the guilt for everything that happened after we tried to transmute mom. You'll never start moving again."

Ed's gaze traveled further out the window, trying to find the drifting dot that would be the ladybug in flight. "I know, Al."

"I made my own decisions." His brother's voice was right behind him. "And I deal with those consequences. We can't go back. Or do you need your watch to remind you?"

Ed was surprised when he didn't so much as flinch at the barb.

"We came to the end, Al. We set out to restore our bodies, and here we are."

"Is that what this is all about?" Al's voice sounded disappointed. "You're scared because you don't have a neatly defined, black and white goal to accomplish anymore?"

Was it really that simple? "A long time ago, you said you would have lived the quiet life if not for my meddling."

Al sighed deeply, then changed tactics. "It's a lovely dream, isn't it? Some quiet town, nestled on a hill, with no early morning inspection. No deadlines, no orders. No fear that knowledge gathered and recorded would be corrupted by hands grasping for power."

He'd heard that tone enough to know that Al was sure his older brother wasn't going to like what he heard next.

"I want some control over the consequences."

Al was not so easily derailed. "To do that, we'd have to leave Amestris. You met too many people when we were working towards the Philosopher's Stone. Sooner or later, you'd be recognized."

Ed closed his eyes. That was probably true. "Another consequence." He held up his right hand. "What will the consequence of getting outfitted with Winry's latest invention be, I wonder?"

"You can't take all the credit. She invented it for me, you know." Al took one more step, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. And about three inches higher.

"Can you think of no other application for strength-augmenting armor?" He let his hand drop back to his side. "Isn't Amestris about to enter a prolonged period of paranoia before our neighbors attack, sensing weakness? Haven't we already seen it happen? Haven't we participated in that once already?"

Al sighed. "And isn't strength-augmenting armor going to be invented eventually? Winry's brilliant mostly because she was trying to so hard to make automail you-proof. But she's not the only brilliant automail maker out there. Just like the gas research, eventually someone else is going to come up with the idea."

"I'd rather not be a part of it, this time."

"Because you're an idiot," Al snapped. "If you know something is going to happen that can be used improperly, that's all the more reason to jump right in!"

Ed didn't look at him, and beside him, his brother huffed in frustration. "What about polio, Ed? Do you think that disease doesn't exist in this world? What about those born with deformities, those who would use that kind of technology for dangerous situations, or rescues? Think of who it could help!"

Al turned to face the window, as if searching for what his brother was watching so intently. "Europe changed quickly. That world changes quickly, and we saw nothing but the negative aspects. If that's what you're afraid of, then why are you running away? If you participated, couldn't you do a better job of keeping those aspects at bay?"

Was that true? Was he afraid? It had been so long since he'd –

No. That wasn't true at all.

"Do you think I'm afraid, Al?"

" . . . I hope you are." Al laughed softly. "Because I'm terrified."

Ed stared at his brother, and Al rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I've been trying to get my body – and yours - back since I was a kid. Then we were trying to get rid of the bomb. I was more scared that I wasn't going to get that bomb destroyed than I was of dying." He shrugged, running his hand over his short ponytail thoughtfully. "We've always had a purpose, something we had to do that no one else could. Now we don't. I . . . it's like floundering. I'm not really sure what I should be doing, but I have the unshakable feeling that I need to get moving again, or I never will."

Ed watched his brother a moment, then turned back to the window.

They stayed that way for many minutes.

"If we're going to Resembool, we should probably head out soon," Al finally observed. "And if we don't, we need to call Winry."

Ed just nodded, once. He'd abandoned the ladybug search in lieu of staring at the fresh new leaves on the cherry tree outside their window. It had long ago bloomed, and now was enjoying the very beginning of summer.

Their seasons weren't the same either. Maybe that had something to do with the cataclysmic event that had changed the continents, and their calendar being so far off?

Or maybe that had to do with the prevalent European religion. The same one that had been in Amestris, in the city below Central.

They were so alike, those worlds.

One was all, and all was one.

And if the followers of Leto could do it, he supposed he had no excuse. "I'll put one foot in front of the other." He turned his head slightly, watching his brother in his peripheral vision. "I have two perfectly good legs, after all."

"Good." Al's tone was approving. "I was afraid we were going to have to look up Rose before we visited Granny Pinako and Winry."

"But I can't leave it behind, Al. Not yet. Not all of it." Ed reached up and gently pulled the window closed. Then he turned to face his brother.

" . . . but I'll work on it."

Al was silent a moment, and then his eyes glinted maliciously. "Like you worked on drinking milk?" he teased.

Ed accidentally grinned, and the serious atmosphere was broken. Good, too. All that honesty was depressing him.

Al indicated the armor, lying beside the satchel. "I'll wait out front. I think the military's gotten us a car."

"Does Mustang really think Hakuro's going to come after us now?"

"No, I think he wants us out of his hair," Al responded darkly. "We just about killed his chances at getting elected Prime Minister."

That was true. Then again, they'd then turned around and almost guaranteed it. The failed bomb test meant further aggression from Amestris' embittered neighbors, so the likelihood the Parliament would vote for someone that was militarily competent rather than a figurehead was high.

And unlike Hakuro, Ed knew they could trust Mustang never to issue an irrational order.

Huh. Trust and Mustang. He'd combined those two concepts into the same thought.

Couldn't let _that_ one slip out.

- x -

"How the hell are you going to explain that?"

She was more than half-way across the traincar from them, but she recognized the voice instantly. It was the only one that had that odd, slightly foreign accent to it. And that certain edge he'd had even when a child his age had no right to it.

"What, thrice-hundred folded steel, or samurai?"

"Either."

"Nii-san, you saw how strong that sword was. And flexible, too. If we can figure out what about repetitively heating and folding steel gave it those characteristics –"

"We should have tied your helmet-hair into a topknot."

"I would have looked ridiculous!"

"That's true."

Two blonde heads were visible above the red velvet headrests. One wore a rather tight, neat braid, while the other was more relaxed, and quite a bit longer. She slipped around the passengers, heading directly for them.

"I wish we'd gotten more time to speak with the samurai."

"Speak with him?! Al, he didn't speak English _or_ German!"

She came to stand directly behind their seats, but she had only been staring at the back of Ed's head about three seconds before he sensed it, and turned.

She barely repressed the urge to hug the stuffing out of him.

Arguing! Arguing with Alphonse! Oh, Riza was going to be so relieved –

"You two have gotten no quieter, I see," she reprimanded them gently, and the Elric brothers smiled up at her.

Oh, but they'd gotten handsome, too. The lack of pain and blood on their faces probably helped that a good deal. Al looked as though he'd forgotten to shave that morning, but Edward's face was smooth. Perhaps Alphonse would grow a beard, like his father had had.

Al jumped to his feet, grinning warmly at her. "Lieutenant Ross!"

Ed just gave her a slightly cocky smirk over his shoulder, and remained slouched in the seat where he was. "Come to see us off?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, then reached into her uniform's inner pocket and presented the two young men with a thick white envelope. "Hardly. Here are your orders."

Ed's smirk froze, but Al accepted the envelope. "Ah . . . orders?" His voice had the same hesitance it had had when he was a child, and was afraid his brother was about to go off –

Maria gave Edward a stern look. "I'm just the messenger," she reminded him, and suddenly the vein that had started to stand out on his forehead faded back into his skin.

"That's true," he agreed. She resisted the urge to check him for a fever. "Oy, Al, throw that out the window, would you?"

Ah, that was more like it.

They had attracted the attention of several of the passengers on the train, and she was relieved to see a flash of automail as Ed reached for the envelope to discard it himself.

She'd been ordered to make a scene, after all. And she'd been given every possible tool to assist her in that endeavor. Military orders for Edward Elric should have been enough to have started a shouting match by now.

And she was authorized to tell him about his current National Alchemist status, too, if it came to that.

Alphonse was already opening it, holding it high enough that Ed was going to have to stand to get it away from him. "I'm not in the military, nii-san. You can't order me."

"I'm your older brother!"

Al's eyebrows rose, and then he shook his head ruefully. "You're my older brother who needs to be back at Central HQ in two weeks."

Ed finally succeeded in snatching the missive from Al, and Al chuckled as he walked around his brother's outstretched legs and wrapped the very startled Lieutenant into a tight hug.

"Thanks for getting him to the doctors so quickly," he murmured softly. "It's good to finally get to hug you properly."

Maria smiled, and squeezed him tightly.

"Ah, so Mustang wants us back because he's going to be elected Prime Minister and he thinks the National Alchemists should work directly for him like they did the Fuhrer." Ed chuckled as he put the paperstock back into its envelope. "You can tell that pompous power-monger-"

"I can't hear you," the lieutenant sang out, patting Al on the back before turning on her heels and starting for the traincar's exit. "The train's whistle is blowing too loudly."

She imagined that Ed's face had gotten that consternated look he'd worn so often as a teenager.

"What train whistle? It's not – HEY! HEY, GET BACK HERE!"

In a moment of perfect timing, the train whistle actually did go off, warning the platform that it was about to pull away from the station. Her boots hit the platform just as the steam engine jerked the train to life, and she grinned merrily and waved at the young man half-hanging over the back, waving a white envelope and yelling.

Yes, she had successfully created a scene.

And Ed and Al were going to be alright.

That was the most important thing.

First Lieutenant Ross nodded to a few confused-looking enlisted on the platform, and headed back towards the main offices.

They'd be back in two weeks, after all. Much as Ed had complained, he'd be too intrigued to skip it. It was amazing, all the years he'd been gone, he hadn't really changed at all.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I know, I promised you all a great deal of resolution! And then didn't give you very much. I ended up spending the entire chapter on Edward. He apparently had a lot to say. I figure two more chapters – we need to get Mustang elected, after all, and find out what he has planned for the Elrics. Standard typo disclaimers apply – I only caught one, which means there's another, lurking in the shadows. Special thanks also goes out to Silverfox, for braving the hordes and giving me her opinion on my last request! It shall be as she has requested.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"What's a zeppelin again?"

Ed was reclining against the folding table that made up the usual Rockbell 'mechanical limb application' area. His eyes were closed, and the visible portion of him, which was pretty much from the waist up, appeared relaxed. He'd been talking the better part of an hour, now, and never once had his words caught or his voice hesitated.

Al was torn between congratulating him or hitting him.

Ed lowered his left arm, which had been flung carelessly above his head, and scratched one of his eyebrows with his thumb. "Ah, it's sort of like a cylindrical balloon with an inner aluminum skeleton, a couple combustion motors, and an enclosed basket that carries passengers. There's a flexible but durable skin over the skeleton, filled with hydrogen gas so it floats. The motors power fans and rudders that steer and direct the zeppelin, and gas is added or released to control altitude."

Winry didn't say anything for a moment, concentrating on one of the many tiny pistons she was calibrating, and Al took a moment to stretch.

It was much less stressful watching Ed get fitted for this automail. His brother had been very careful to prevent him from seeing as much of his automail maintenance and installation as possible, but he'd never forget the first time nii-san had been outfitted. Even if what he remembered best was the sound of his own armor rattling and the slightly yellowing wall that had been directly across the hall from him.

And the pained breaths of his brother, trying not to cry out.

Alphonse extended his legs out into the room and crossed his arms over his chest, content to wait for his brother to continue. He really wasn't sure who nii-san was putting on the show for – Winry knew both the subject and the new 'bionics' were bothering him. She was doing a much better job of keeping it to herself, though. Ed's open posture, the cavalier way in which he was talking, and most of all, the subject . . . but then again, he always did like to overcompensate.

Al smirked to himself and decided now was probably not the time to pick on him. Even though Ed had been pretty much dragged kicking and screaming into this conversation, the fact that he was continuing it probably meant a great deal to Winry.

After all, she'd never heard any of the parts that hadn't included her directly.

"Hydrogen is extremely flammable," Ed finally added. "It was shot down by the British, and I couldn't get out of the way in time."

Winry exchanged one incredibly tiny instrument for another, and bent over the elbow joint she was attaching. "So you burned to death," she concluded quietly.

Ed's face never changed expression, and he laid his left arm across his chest. "To tell you the truth, I really don't remember. I think more of the aluminum must have collapsed onto us, because it was just after I tried and failed to transmute a way out when I was back at the Gate."

"So it was alter-Edward's life that paid the price to get you to the Gate," Al murmured. "But it wouldn't have been enough to pay for a trip through."

"No, just to," his brother confirmed without inflection. "For some reason I was able to turn around and I could see the crack of light between the two doors. To be honest, I think they let me escape just like they let Wrath. My body was still in the Gate, after all."

Al considered that. He hated to give something that should be bound to natural laws such a personality, but there was no doubt that there were free-thinking . . . beings . . . that lived inside the Gate. The structure itself, the bridge that connected their two worlds, obviously did follow the natural laws. And Wrath had once been one of those beings, so . . .

"Aluminum, you say?" Winry was clearly still stuck on the mechanics of the zeppelin. "But not all of the gas should have burned all at once . . ."

Ed nodded once. "The skin wasn't completely burned away, so there wasn't enough air exchange to give the hydrogen in the middle sufficient oxygen to support combustion. The more skin that burned away, the more gas could escape and combust, so its rate of descent increased –"

Winry put down the second, delicate instrument she'd been using and picked up a crescent wrench. Without missing a beat she clobbered Ed across the temple with it.

Ed did a very good job of not reflexively hitting her, considering she'd more than halfway connected strength-augmenting mechanics to the arm that was closest to her. He sat bolt upright, bringing his left arm up to cradle his head, and never so much as twitched his right arm. Or maybe he couldn't; perhaps she had the mechanism frozen until she was finished with her adjustments.

Al winced on his brother's behalf, and pulled his legs further away from the bristling mechanic.

"YOU COULDN'T GET OUT OF THE WAY OF A FALLING BALLOON?!" she shrieked at him, which earned her a murderous look. "WHAT KIND OF STUPID ARE YOU?!"

"ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!" he roared back. "THE CLOUD COVER WAS LOW AND I WAS DISTRACTED! THEY'RE HUGE, WINRY, IT'S NOT LIKE I JUST STOOD THERE STARING AT IT-"

"I'm not making this stuff for you so you can get killed by something falling at one foot per second," she growled, tossing the crescent wrench back onto her metal tray and picking up a tiny screwdriver. Ed just pressed the heel of his palm into his right temple and glared like he'd never seen anything like her before.

That wasn't completely unexpected. She'd taken Edward's first death on this world pretty well, all things considered. Then again, Rose had seen it, and since she'd lived in Resembool for a while, and brought the little ten year old him back to the Rockbells –

Winry was back to adjusting things too minute to see from where Al was sitting, and other than a extremely dark expression, she appeared to be over her anger. Nii-san was still glowering, which probably meant he was going to clam up-

"I'm not going to get killed by a falling zeppelin here," he noted, in a surprisingly calm tone of voice. "We don't have them."

Winry muttered something and picked up a medium-sized screwdriver. Ed looked wary, but she just continued working on the elbow joint. "What about you, Al? How many times have you died?"

Al blinked. When had his turned into the hot seat?

". . . Winry, we never . . . really . . . er, died. Alchemy can't resurrect the dead. I learned that when we tried to bring back mom." She knew this story, so he was relatively safe, even if she did have very good aim with projectiles. "My body was taken by the Gate, but nii-san transmuted my soul to the suit of armor. Then . . . I guess the next time was when I healed Edward's body and transmuted his soul back to it. I didn't have a body again, but I wasn't dead, per se, since my body was still in the Gate . . ."

And of course she'd seen him in the hospital. Hopefully at least not until the Tringums had had some time with him. "As for two weeks ago . . ." Well, hadn't he encouraged nii-san to tell her everything they'd been keeping from her? He'd set a poor example if he didn't as well.

"Winry, are you sure you want to-"

She froze, cutting him off instantly. "How many times are the two of you going to ask me before you believe me?"

Al just nodded. "Uh, well, it's skipping ahead in the story a little bit, but . . ." How to tell this without revealing anything nii-san wasn't comfortable dealing with yet? "When the Thules invaded, after you replaced brother's automail, he came up to the surface and found me. I still didn't really remember him, or what we'd done, and I saw . . . all the civilians that had died. A little girl . . ." How could Ed say all this so matter-of-factly?

Al took a deep breath. It was all history. They couldn't go back. "I picked her up with some vague idea of resurrecting her, and nii-san stopped me. He reminded me what had happened to get us to that point, and we refocused on stopping the invasion, doing what good we could. We found a relatively tall building in the path of the commanding airship, so I transmuted a few suits of armor at the foot of the building to watch our backs and we launched an attack."

The colonel showing up had certainly been a surprise, though. "Then who should come floating by on a balloon but Colonel Mustang, and the three of us took the ship back from Eckhart." That was a very brief way of putting it. "She told us she had come here to annihilate our world, because it frightened her. Nii-san decided one of us needed to go back and destroy the gate there, and one of us needed to stay to destroy the one here. He separated the ship and walked away."

Al smiled slightly at the memory. "As if he thought telling Mustang to hold me back was going to do any good-"

From the bed, Ed snorted, still rubbing his temple. "That reminds me, I need to have a word with him."

Winry glanced up at him, her expression . . . wary. "Didn't you have time to talk to him when Al snuck off to wreck the bomb?"

Ed was silent for a long time. "We didn't say much," he finally replied. "Had other things on our minds."

"It is odd how everything worked out, though," Al supplied into the sudden silence. "That Mustang was used by the military like he used to use other people, elevated to a hero status because the military wanted to look like it had handled the problem."

"You guys have no idea," Winry shook a few stray strands of hair from her eyes. "He was immediately reinstated to his former rank, he was on posters, in parades – 'an example of the strength of the Amestrian people.'" The last was muttered in a low announcer's voice.

Ed had opened his eyes at some point, and his expression was no longer blank. "Winry . . ."

She just shook her head, then drummed up a wistful smile. "But as you said, Al, it did all work out."

Al watched her drip a bit of oil onto the elbow joint, and then move down to the hand. "So you were explaining how you managed to get shot full of holes?"

Alphonse stared up at the ceiling. "Uh, so I was . . . well, Mustang let me go. I'm pretty sure I could have eventually throw him off, but I wasn't thinking too clearly." That had been an understatement. "I stowed away in a suit of armor until the ship passed back through the gate, and when we arrived back there, it seemed that the event that had triggered Eckhart's invasion into Central had happened and had not ended positively for the forces that had researched and created the gate."

He wondered if he should include that his alter was there, dead. "I picked up my properly aged body and all the memories I'd lost on the trip through, which made squeezing back out of the armor a little awkward," he added as an afterthought. "Alfons Heiderich, my alter, was dead. He'd been shot probably after he'd sent Ed through the gate in the rocket, and Noa was there. She helped us seal the gate on that side. After that . . . Ed mentioned that he'd seen a photograph of the uranium bomb Huskisson had transmuted into the Gate, so we decided to pursue that."

And pursue it they did. "We ended up in Germany, the aggressors of the war the British were fighting when Ed first arrived in that world. Their army had gotten ahold of the bomb, so we started working there in an effort to get nearer to it. Since the Thules knew who nii-san was, we took the names Russell and Fletcher Tringham."

Winry shook her head slightly, but otherwise just bent closer to the mechanical hand that was fitted so perfectly over Ed's real one.

"Hey, I thought it was funny."

"It was Ed's idea, wasn't it."

Ed snorted again.

"He studied and became a doctor, whereas I began as an enlisted man. We weren't sure whether the military or the research division was more likely to have the most access to the bomb, so we wanted to hit it from two sides." It had been a very successful assault, all told. "I moved up the ranks as a physical trainer, teaching the soldiers a little hand to hand, which is incidentally how we met the samurai."

It had been odd, the differences between sensei's training and the Japanese forms of martial arts. Al felt a pang of sadness, and shook it off with difficulty. She would have loved to have learned a few of the forms he'd picked up from the Japanese representatives.

"In a couple years, we figured out where the bomb was. Nii-san got transferred to a laboratory in the same building with the bomb, and after a couple weeks of not much news, he didn't come home."

Winry stopped working, but didn't say anything, so he continued.

"We'd worked out that if we didn't hear from each other in two days, something had happened and we should act accordingly. I'd just gotten back from . . . from an assignment. Recently I had been deployed with a few of my top groups to observe how they functioned in combat situations."

"What kind of combat situations?" Winry had not resumed her work.

"Search and seizure of suspected traitors to the German cause." That was the way the propaganda had put it. "They would break into houses of known disloyalists and take them in the night, as part of a method to instill fear into others that might not agree with Germany's new goals." Al glanced up to see Ed staring straight at him.

He dropped his eyes away from his brother's gaze after only a moment, and continued. "So when I didn't hear from nii-san or his secretary, I figured that something had happened. We lived just above a laundry facility, a family that washed all the uniforms for the soldiers stationed in Stuttgart. I broke in and stole someone's uniform, and then snuck into the building where I knew brother's laboratory was."

Al chuckled quietly. "I'd been planning, if I'd gotten caught, to reveal myself and show my superiors how easy it was to break into a German facility, but it proved a little more difficult than I'd anticipated." The words were coming easier. "Two guards at nii-san's door caught me. I tied them up in his lab, but their absence was noticed fairly quickly, and building security was tightened before I really knew where he was."

He could still feel his brother's stare. Ed didn't know this part of the story, after all.

"I was . . .rude, you could say, but I made some of the soldiers tell me where he was. Apparently it was the talk of the base, that he was some sort of mechanical monster, a spy sent to steal German secrets for the British." If it had happened to someone he didn't know, it would have been funny. "I fought my way down to the more secure parts of the building, and I found him. But, since it was more secure, and he was . . ." Al glanced up at Ed again, and held his gaze.

"He didn't know I was even there." It had been possibly the scariest moment of his life. "I was shot trying to get us both out of the building." He half-smiled. "Mustang would be disappointed with me," he added. "I was shot by a guard I'd previously disabled. I suppose if I'd just killed them it wouldn't have happened, but . . . I was shooting to injure only. And he wasn't."

Al shrugged apologetically at both his brother and Winry. "So, we stumbled into a janitor's closet. When I'd . . . talked to the other soldiers, I'd gotten more information. The subject of a lot of the research in that building was human experimentation, just like Laboratory Five here in Central." Funny how some things were so alike. "There had been a lot of security in the building, more than I'd anticipated, because of that research, and specifically, experiments that had been going on there for the past few days."

He didn't feel he really needed to elaborate. "I knew that those experiments were going to result in deaths." Al said it as frankly, but gently, as possible. "And I thought that, if I was going to die, and brother was too injured to help, then the best solution was to make sure the Germans couldn't use the bomb. That way, everything that had gone from this world to that one . . . it would be gone."

Winry looked away.

"So, I drew a transmutation circle, hoping it would work. Even if I couldn't use the other deaths, at least I could use mine." He shrugged again, though now he knew neither one of them was looking at him. "And we ended up back here. Where I didn't die," he added. "So technically, neither one of us has died. Not really."

Technically, that probably didn't make Winry feel any better. She just sighed after a moment, and kept working.

Ed half-glared at her. "Oh, but you don't hit _him_."

"He wasn't stupid enough to get squashed by a falling zeppelin," she retorted. "Besides, currently I'm trying to think up what kind of woman could deal with being your secretary."

"She was sort of like Falman, actually," Al volunteered, earning a glare from his brother. It was nice to be able to lighten the mood a little. "Her name was Mary Marguerite, and she was the epitome of efficiency. She didn't take any crap from him at all."

Winry actually smiled, glancing up at Ed, who huffed his bangs out of his eyes. "She made terrible coffee, too."

"What happened to her, anyway? Did she not transfer with you to Klein's lab?"

Ed shook his head, glancing at what Winry was doing for the first time since she'd started working. "No, they assigned us technicians instead. The research was supposed to be more focused, so . . ." He trailed off, his expression slipping towards the blank one again.

Al hid his disappointment by rubbing his face, noting the stubble there. Aunt Pinako was probably going to scold him for not shaving, but then again, he was an adult, and was no longer in the military, and he could wear his whiskers however he wanted! He wasn't sure how he'd look with facial hair, but he'd rather liked their father's combination of long bangs and the trimmed but full beard.

Though now was probably not the best time to start growing it, considering –

They'd skipped that part of the story. Winry didn't know their father was dead.

"So, how did you pay?" she asked matter-of-factly, straightening Edward's pinky finger and brushing something onto the metal joints.

Ed blinked at her. "Pay who? Where?"

Winry nodded towards Al without stopping what she was doing. "Al, you said that you snuck onto the ship that took Ed back to that . . . that other world. If it costs something every time you go through this Gate, what did you pay?"

Al pursed his lips, and noted that Ed was also looking thoughtful. "That was actually something I figured out when the Gate tried to take you back," he murmured. "I think ever since I reconstructed your body, you've been traveling back and forth on loan."

Ed shifted so he was sitting up a little straighter, and received a whack on the chest from Winry. "Sit still."

"Al, what do you mean?"

Al lined up his thoughts. "When we – we tried to bring back Mom, you lost your leg in return for her soul. Even though it wasn't her soul, it was just . . . a soul. Maybe one of the beings from the Gate. I lost my entire body. But all we needed was that soul to transmute to the body made of the ingredients we'd already provided, so . . . what did my body pay for?"

Ed's eyes started shifting, and Al knew he was no longer seeing the room, but searching his memory. "Didn't you say Dad figured it was the ability to transmute your soul to inanimate objects?"

Al nodded. "Partially. I think that was a symptom of it, actually. The Gate is drawn when the connection between the body, mind, and soul is weak, like with the dying or a newborn baby. When you reaffixed my soul to my body six years ago, it was to a younger version of my body, because you only took the part of my soul that was sitting in the Gate with my body, instead of the part that had been living in the armor for all those years."

Ed opened his mouth, looking stricken, but Al cut him off. "When you originally transmuted my soul to the armor, one of the reasons I couldn't remember things as well as I used to was because a piece of my soul had to remain with my body, or it would have died. Remember? That was why Dante's and father's bodies were rotting. Their souls weren't strong enough to sustain them. If we'd totally removed my soul from my body, it would have died, even in the Gate."

"Al . . ." Ed's brows were furrowed. "That doesn't make sense. How could my limbs -?"

"Your limbs were borrowed by the Gate. Wrath took them, and kept them until they were taken from him by the Gate when Dante called it. Once the Gate had them back, technically they belonged to you anyway, because by then, Sloth was . . . was gone." He licked his lips. "You traded your leg for the soul that was tied to Sloth, so you should have gotten your leg back the next time you went through the Gate. Only you didn't, because Wrath had it. Then when you came back, you came back in your body with the automail still attached because you . . . well, I think because you didn't argue with the Gate to get it back."

If they were really going to accept that the beings in the Gate had taken their bodies in the first place.

"But that doesn't explain . . . the gate had my arm and leg since 1915, when I left here and ended up on Earth. Two years later, I came back, and we left again. Now it's 1921. If the Gate had these limbs for six years –"

"You don't know what it's been doing with them since then," Al reminded him. "After all, Wrath kept them inside the gate for years, and another being took them from Wrath, not the Gate itself."

Ed and Winry both looked back down at Ed's right arm.

"Whereas you didn't see my body wandering around anywhere," Al continued. "I don't think it could be used the same way your limbs were used, or it would have been. One of those things would have taken it and escaped the Gate like Wrath did. But that never happened. The only reason I can think of is that they couldn't, because it was already occupied. With me, just like I was at ten years old. When you went into the Gate and pulled me out six years ago, that's all you pulled out."

Ed tore his gaze off his arm and stared back at Al. "But-"

"It's okay," he said, as reassuringly as he could. "In the end, it works out. When you brought my body and that piece of my soul out of the Gate, you should have gotten your arm back. All you traded it for was the ability to transmute a piece of my soul to the armor. But you didn't get it back – you ended up on Earth with the automail ports. Just the ports," he added. "I took the automail limbs off before I tried to reconstruct your body, but I couldn't get the ports off you, so I ended up leaving them in the Gate when I reattached your arm and leg."

"You left some of _my_ equipment in this Gate?" Winry's voice had taken on a dangerous lilt.

"But Ed ended up taking them back, because he willingly offered the arm and leg back for the ability to get my body out of the Gate," Al told her. "So he ended up back on Earth with the ports, and I ended up a ten year old that was missing the piece of my soul that had been in the armor."

Ed blinked. "Wait. So you're saying that I had earned my arm and leg back by the time you returned them to me using the Philosopher's Stone?"

Al nodded. "Yes. The Philosopher's Stone paid the fee for healing the hole in your chest and transmuting your soul, but it wasn't necessary to get your limbs back. I didn't know that at the time, so I offered the whole thing. And at that point, I also owed nothing. I was now sitting in the Gate and I think that if you hadn't come to get me, I probably would have ended up being allowed to force my way out, just like you and Wrath did. If nothing else, the part of the Philosopher's Stone that I used to 'buy' back your limbs would have paid for me to get out."

It suddenly occurred to Al that this was not reassuring his brother. "But you didn't even let me chance that," he added quickly. "You bartered your arm and leg – the ones you didn't owe – to pay for me to return to this world. Which I would have done anyway. At that point, you gave the Gate something, and got nothing in return. Since then, the Gate has owed you that debt."

Ed rubbed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. "And it owed you as well, for the piece of the Philosopher's Stone you used to buy something that it already owed me. And for the piece of your soul that stayed in the Gate."

Al nodded. "Since then, I've been using the debt owed me unconsciously. The first time by sending a piece of my soul to Earth on the armor, the second time by getting that piece of soul back, and the third time coming through the Gate with you back to Earth. At that point I picked up that missing piece of my soul, probably because that time the entire rest of it went through and the missing years were attracted back, like all the other pieces. I think the fact that it had been kept so long is what allowed my body to age to catch up to my soul. At that point, if there was any 'debt' left with the Philosopher's Stone, I spent it either by coming back from Earth here, or when . . . when we took the Tringums there."

Ed closed his eyes, and didn't move his hand. "Or the deaths on Earth paid for our trip." His voice was dull. "Even if the Gate owed me my arm and leg, it didn't owe me anything else."

"It owed you the time it kept them," Al corrected. "It lent them to other beings, and they were used in that time. That's why they grew to be the right size, and they still work at all."

"But what about my memories, Al?" Ed stared at him. "I didn't lose those because a piece of my soul got left behind . . . there would have been no reason it would have been."

Al looked at the floor, a little guiltily. "I think that was my fault," he admitted. "I told the Gate to . . . make you like you were before. I thought I was dead, so I figured at least I could make you whole again." Ed glared at him, and Al made a face.

"I meant for it to give you back your arm and leg, but I think it interpreted that as . . . taking the memories that were hurting you. That might have cost me part of the Philosopher's Stone, as well, since it sort of gave them back to you as a punishment . . . " If the malicious laughter had been any indication. "The fact that it gave them back might have paid for all of us to return here safely, come to think of it."

Ed was still glaring, but it was the kind of glare he occasionally gave his research. He apparently couldn't find any other holes in the theory, because he finally sat back with a shake of his head.

"So it swindled you," Winry said slowly. "You held out a handful of money and it took it all, because you were too stupid to know what the goods you were trying to buy should cost."

Ed chewed on that, then sighed, and Al stared at him for a couple of seconds.

"Yeah, I think that's really it," he agreed. "I think the first trade, a limb for a soul, was something you felt was fair. I was . . . too desperate to get Mom back. I was willing to give up everything just so at least you could . . . could see her smile." He tried to grin, but he wasn't sure how well it came off. "I always thought she was more proud of you," he explained. "I thought she'd be happie-"

His perspective changed, and a ringing clatter on the ground assaulted his ears at the same time the shock of the impact on his forehead turned to pain.

Al clapped both his hands to his head, and it was several seconds before all the little black dots faded back to clean floor tiles.

"SHE LOVED BOTH OF YOU THE SAME, YOU IDIOT!" Winry raged. "HOW COULD THE TWO OF YOU BE SO STUPID?! YOU ALMOST DIE FOR EACH OTHER, OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND IT WAS FOR NOTHING?!"

She continued shouting, but Al tuned her out briefly to shake the last of the fuzzies from his head. Damn, her arm had gotten better in the last four years.

By the time he'd shaken off the rattling his brain had gotten, and the lump on his forehead was quite egg-like, Winry had calmed back down. In fact, she was leaning away from Ed with a rather smug look.

"Go help granny with dinner," she ordered, wiping the grease off her fingers.

Ed was obviously taken off-guard, because he just stared at her a second. " . . . Winry-"

"I heard enough." She stood, picking up several of her largest tools and also wiping them clean of grease. Threateningly. "You're back, you have no reason to leave again, and there will be no more 'not technically dying.' That means that you're mine." The glare she turned on the two of them was enough to make them sweat.

"You." She pointed at Ed with the crescent wrench. "Same rehab as before. Chop up vegetables, learn how much pressure it takes to control that arm. I've currently set it to support its own weight and 'cost of energy,' so it shouldn't be too far off using your hand and arm normally. Inside the thumb you'll feel a slide lever. If you push it all the way to the top of the cap, the amount of leverage the mechanism will apply increases significantly. We'll test that later, when I'm sure you're not going to wreck the house accidentally."

Then she turned on Al. "You," she growled, "are going to help me clean up, and then carry the leg down here. We'll put it on him tomorrow, after he's gotten used to the arm. There will be _no sparring_ for the first week he trains. You're not indestructible and bulletproof anymore," she added acidly.

He just held up his hands placatingly. "Yes ma'am."

She glared. "And neither one of you better mistake me for a _secretary._"

Al blinked, trying to hide a grin, and Ed rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "This is why we never used to tell you anything," he muttered.

"Good! I wish you hadn't! Next time, just keep it to yourselves! Upstairs, _now_."

Her tone hadn't changed markedly, but it was more than enough. She had her head down, viciously wiping at the rows of silver implements she'd been using to attach and calibrate the armor, and her hair was over her shoulder nearest them, hiding her from view. Ed caught Al's eyes and gave him a helpless look. Al just shook his head, then nodded at the stairs.

Obviously she didn't really want to deal with either of them right at this moment. It would be better to do what she said and let her calm down. She'd heard an awful lot, and it was probably true that now she wished she hadn't.

Years had gone by, with them in pain, because they'd been stupid. That much was true. And she'd watched them suffer through some of those years, and suffered herself because of them.

And they had no way to make that up to her.

Ed stared at Winry a second, but she didn't pause in her work, and after another moment's hesitation, he crossed the room and began up the stairs, shaking out his right arm. The door creaked open quickly, and they heard the clicking of Den's toenails on the kitchen floor above. There was a brief exclamation, the sound of a body hitting something fairly solid, and the door closed.

Al waited a few more seconds, watching Winry's back. She was still scrubbing almost frantically at the tools, and didn't issue him any instructions. In fact, outside of the one tray she'd used, there wasn't anything else to clean up. They hadn't even put a sheet down on the reclining table, because there hadn't been any blood. Everything she'd connected to him had just slipped on, like a shiny and extremely hard sleeve.

Winry slammed down the piece she'd been scrubbing, and leaned hard into the tray, bowing her head. Al watched her another few seconds, then crossed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

He'd gotten much taller, considering she was a grown woman and her head now rested neatly under his chin. She tensed the moment he touched her, but he just pulled her against him, and laid his cheek on the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She shivered in his arms, and he realized she was crying. She was really crying.

"Please don't cry, Winry." He held her tighter, and she kept shaking. "You made it work, just like you promised."

"Stupid-" She broke it off before her voice could fail her, and shook her head vigorously. He didn't move, though now her hair was tangled into his two-day-old beard and it tickled his nose when he breathed.

"Get off me." It was weak. "Let me go."

"No." He made sure his voice was strong. And it was lower than she was used to hearing it, too. She paused in her half-hearted struggles. "Not anymore, Winry. Not either of us."

"You left me behind!" Al winced at the volume, imagining that Ed could probably hear that no matter how much water Pinako was running.

"We did," he admitted, in a quieter voice. "One of the many stupid things we used to do. But not anymore."

She struggled harder against him, trying to pull his forearms away from her, but he didn't let her. Her back was pulled tight to his chest, and he could feel how tense she was, how much strength she wasn't really using. But she didn't stop. Didn't say anything at all. Just kept pulling at him.

He didn't want to turn this into a wrestling match – it wouldn't make her feel any better, and she had all the weapons anyway. He was about to relax his hold a little to see how she reacted, when she suddenly slumped against him, shaking harder. He held her close. "I'm sorry, Winry. I'm so, so sorry. We were stupid. We . . . didn't want anyone to get hurt. We didn't want anyone to have to pay for our actions." He chuckled softly. "We were so stupid, we thought we actually had control over that."

"Please let me go." For the first time, he could hear the tears in her voice. "Please let go."

"Can't," he said easily, lifting his head and trying to untangle her hair before he gave up and switched to the other cheek. "Too late."

She sobbed quietly, and for a long time they just stood there. They'd really had no right to come barging back into her life like this, he reflected. Neither of them had been asked, but if they had, would they have let Mustang's subordinates call her in? Or would they have elected a different automail mechanic to take care of Edward? A military one?

Would they have preferred to stay a secret? So nii-san could have his quiet life in another country? So Winry always believed they were gone? They'd left her behind for the last time?

"You know," he tried tentatively, "if Mustang gets elected Prime Minister, in a year or so Ed can discard this armor you've made him. We can explain away the return of his limbs, or say that it's painted." He felt like a heel for offering her an out like that, because he knew she'd never take it, but if she really wanted them out of her life –

Winry shook harder, and it took Al a second to realize she was laughing through her tears. "That ass will break it ten times between then and now." She swallowed. "Besides, he's not used to living without it anymore. If he's going to keep being an idiot, I want to . . . to protect him. Even if that's all I can do."

Al smiled into the top of her head, and then laughed a little himself. "You remind me of someone else I know," he teased her.

Winry groaned, but it didn't seem sincere, and he gave her a little squeeze before he relaxed. She made no move to scoot out from under him, though, and they leaned into each other companionably for a moment.

"So you guys are going back? To Central?"

Al nodded. "Yeah, I think Mustang has a plan for him. Besides, things are . . . dangerous right now. And that's more than partly our fault."

She sighed, then hiccupped, and turned her head so that she could look up at him. "You got tall," she noted. Her nose was quite red from crying, and he released her to hunt for a handkerchief in his back pocket. Mary Marguerite would have shot him on the spot if she'd seen him standing here, not offering a crying young lady his handkerchief –

"And, knowing that bastard, he probably has a plan for both of you," she added, eyes widening in surprise as he fished the square of soft white cotton out and offered it to her.

"Yeah, well, I never joined the military," Al reminded her, turning away while she wiped her eyes. Although, if she were embarrassed now, it was a little late. He was probably red to the roots of his hair. "Not much he can do about that."

Winry blew her nose loudly. "You were posthumously awarded a National Alchemy certification," she informed him, after she was done wiping her nose. "On the anniversary of the Thule Invasion, as a part of the recognition of outstanding Amestrians that gave their lives that day to protect the country."

Al stared at her. "W-what? Why didn't anyone mention it before now?"

She stared at him. "You almost died! And then you were paralyzed! It wasn't like anyone was even thinking about it!" Her expression turned thoughtful. "And between that, and the bomb, I'm not even sure the Tringums remember it."

She was obviously contemplating handing him the handkerchief back, because he shook his head. "Keep it. I have more." It wasn't actually true, but he had no intention of either of them making her cry for the next week, before they could get back to Central and buy some proper clothes.

She sniffled, and then blushed a little. "Thanks."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks yourself."

They stood that way a moment, then Al grinned. "So, what name did they give me?"

Winry shook herself, then went to fetch the tool she'd hit him in the head with. "They named you the Vital Soul Alchemist." Her voice was quiet, and somehow serious again. " . . . I hated it," she added, pausing before she stooped for the tool. "I hated that name."

He stared at her, completely nonplussed. Vital Soul Alchemist . . . probably a nod to his admittedly unique gift of 'vitalizing' an inanimate object with a piece of his soul. Or the fact that he'd lived so long as a grey suit of inexpressive, cold metal when he'd been in fact a young and energetic child. And he supposed it was better than 'Animated Soul Alchemist', which made him sound a little bit like a cartoon character . . .

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, letting his confusion be reflected in his voice. He didn't want to pick a fight, not now, and he didn't want to upset her again, but –

"The first time I heard it," she said, and shook her head. When she straightened and turned, she was all smiles. "I thought it was 'Vital Sole Alchemist,' like you were a bright light and you were all alone. Just because Ed was gone didn't mean-" She waved her hands – and the wrench. "But then when I saw it spelled, it made sense. I just, that first impression –"

"It's okay," he reassured her. "I didn't like nii-san's name the first time I heard it, either. But . . . when I heard other people say it, and it sounded like it made them happy . . . then it didn't seem so unbearably heavy."

Winry beamed at him, so that her eyes were almost hidden, and put the wrench with the others.

"Maybe," she agreed cheerfully. "Come on, let's get that leg before the lunkhead decides to put it on and come crashing through the ceiling."

Al moved to follow her upstairs before something clicked in his head.

"Ah, Winry?"

She glanced over her shoulder as she jogged up the stairs.

"Who submitted my name for that posthumous award?"

She grabbed the doorknob, pushing the door open to be greeted by the white, wet muzzle of Den. "The same guy that pulled your records to prove you'd passed the written test."

Ah, so Mustang had done it. Even though the colonel knew damn well that he wasn't dead. Nice of him, to use his new position to get his people promotions and try to give the credit where . . .

. . . it was due . . .

Maria Ross had told them "Your orders." He'd assumed she meant only Ed, but if Mustang had been the one to have the certificate awarded –

Al started to laugh. He was still laughing when he topped the stairs, and saw Ed standing at the counter. He was holding a piece of the green vine of a tomato in his new armored hand, and the rest of the fruit was dripping from his hand, his face, his hair, and the immediate area.

The immediate area included a slightly damp Aunt Pinako, with several tomato seeds in her steel blue hair.

Ed didn't appear to appreciate the laughter, because he glowered at them as Winry also burst out giggling.

"You try it," he growled. "Normal pressure my ass, Winry! You expect me to pay you for this?!"

Al shook his head, and bit back his laughter. "No, not you, brother," he reassured his older – and dripping mad – sibling. "You remember that little talk you were going to have with Mustang next week? I think I'll go with you."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: So, more wrapping up of stuff. It takes me a long time to do that. This should have completely answered any questions you guys had in reference to the Gate and my 'owing' theory, as well as the biggest plothole in the anime – how a well-trained martial artist, capable of holding his own against opponents with superhuman strength and speed, and accustomed to thinking and moving quickly in dangerous situations, could manage **to get hit by a falling zeppelin.** Come ON, people!

Sorry, got a little off-track there. All better now.

Next chapter really should be the last (I hope!). I know I said last chapter was your last chance, and it pretty much was, but on the off chance there's something else you can think of that I haven't addressed yet, let me know and I'll see what I can do. I found loads of typos, so the standard apology is in effect.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Not everything changes, you know."

Ed didn't pick his chin up off his knee as a faded but clean white apron entered his peripheral vision. It was a long time before the sweet scent of the burning, spiced tobacco reached him, and in that time, he didn't hear her shift again.

She was getting old.

It must have happened when they were gone, he reflected. Because he knew, even as a child, that he was always more frightened of her than he was of Winry. Though the woman was shorter even than he, and had never struck him out of malice, never threatened him with any sincerity, never even spoke a serious sharp word to him, he was terrified of disappointing her.

In many ways, she was the best guardian he could have hoped for.

But now Aunt Pinako, or Granny Pinako, or the flea-sized hag, or the 'Panthress of Resembool,' or just Rockbell, she wasn't the same size, somehow.

Oh, she'd gotten a little more stooped, perhaps. While it might feel like a lifetime, he'd last spent a serious amount of time in her home a little more than six years ago. Not so long.

Not so long for a woman as large as little Aunt Pinako to have gotten so approachable.

Maybe it was because he was taller.

More likely, it was because he was grown, and now she was treating him like an adult. He'd always thought, even at thirteen, that she'd treated him like an adult, but after these couple weeks, he knew the error of his ways.

She was treating him the way he remembered her treating Hohenheim. Only not as distant, maybe. Maybe like a son.

And she'd always done that.

"You've gotten quiet, Ed," she observed, and he listened to the soft, familiar sound of her taking a drag from the narrow neck of her pipe. Last night, as he'd lain in bed, he'd heard another familiar sound, the one of a small, heavy glass clinking on the table.

She was right.

Not everything had changed.

"I could never figure out how you could drink so much and still be up bright and early to see us off," he spoke at the breaking dawn. "It never occurred to me you just weren't going to bed."

Those hills, for instance. He'd stared at them, from this same porch step, over a hundred times. Sure, there were more houses dotting the hill, but not many. A great swath of the woods had been cut back, but it still ringed the tops and reminded him a little bit of an older man starting to go bald.

There would be a time when he'd sit on this step, and there'd be no woods left. The morning would be streaked with unbelievable oranges and reds, but they wouldn't be a product of the sunlight and the morning air.

They'd be caused by light refracting off all the aerosol debris in the air, the carbon dioxide and the sulfur monoxide. All of the pollutants the great belching form of industrialization would spew into the air in the name of progress.

There was no stopping that. Central had had the combustion engine since before he was born, and trains even before that. They didn't move as quickly; this world wasn't as dependant on mechanics for progress partly because of alchemy.

Partly because large numbers of people, libraries, entire ways of life were consumed in a single evening to produce a lone, many-faceted red crystal.

But saying that more had died here than there, that was ridiculous. There just weren't as many people, somehow. Life here was still slower, for no other reason that it didn't seem to be in such a hurry.

He missed that bustle on mornings like this. When all he could do was watch the sun rising, vanquishing the unfamiliar stars and shining deep into his brain in an attempt to blind all his whirling thoughts into silence.

"You could have joined me," she noted dryly.

Ed smiled slightly. "My first hangover was at fourteen. I've totaled three, and I think that's a pretty fair number. I may be 'full metal,' but I think you've got me beat with sheer experience."

"Ah, so it does talk," Pinako murmured to herself, a small amount of approval tingeing her slightly raspy voice.

Still she stood at his side, silently, and he took deep, secret breaths of the smoke of her pipe, and let it lull his restless brain into stillness.

Funny that she didn't berate him for getting drunk with Mustang's men at such a young age. Then again, maybe she'd beaten him there, too. Or maybe she'd just expected it. Not that he'd ever used alcohol to hide from his demons, but that he would experiment with it, like anyone else, in an effort to see what the appeal was.

The appeal was that it could be transmuted into all _sorts_ of interesting things.

He'd have to take Al drinking again, now that they were back in this world. He'd missed out of the fun of sabotaging drink coasters and watching the ensuing hilarity.

The small smile returned as he thought of Al, still up in their room. He wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, exactly. In fact, it could be said that he was following a routine that had been a part of him for as long as he'd had his body back. Smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes, pulling back his hair, and a thousand other tiny little rituals that everyone else took for granted.

Al enjoyed them, every morning, just as Ed was enjoying sitting on the porch with Pinako. As though such commonplace, trivial things were as special as the rare ones.

Somewhere along the way, his brother had gotten a sense of style. He didn't know exactly when Al had had the chance to absorb it, after all. He'd had his clothes picked out by mom until she died, then he'd been shoved into a single suit of armor for a few years, and once he did have his body back, he'd superimposed the image of his barely remembered older brother onto himself. They'd ended up in Europe, and worn the same work clothes day in and day out before exchanging those for a government issue uniform.

Of course, the color scheme he'd picked reminded Ed of their father, but if Al wanted to look like Pops, that was fine with him.

To give Al credit, the resemblance really did end at the colors. Pinako had a client who was a master tailor, and just happened to stop by the shop last week to get some adjustments. Once he'd heard who her guests were, and their situation, he had stayed for two days to make the 'famous Elric brothers' proper sets of clothes.

Proper, in his case, was a black tunic beneath a white-trimmed black jacket. His ebony trousers sported a few extra pockets, but the red overcoat was unchanged. The town cobbler hadn't forgotten how to make his boots, either; he'd put something new in the soles, though. Felt like they'd last longer, and absorbed more shock.

Good for walking in.

And he ached to try them out. Walk down to the station, catch a train to Central, and start working. Start giving this brain of his something to play with besides the last month's worth of memories. Stop constantly wondering what it all meant. What to do now. Where to go.

How to go.

Al didn't seem to be having quite the same problem. He'd made peace with the last few weeks, or if he hadn't, he was hiding it well. It really wasn't fair to think it like that, either; this had to be just as frightening for Al. He'd said he was terrified, but people swallowed by terror didn't usually whistle old Russian folk tunes as they brushed down their hiking shoes the night before a journey.

This really was a new beginning for his brother. This was the first time, on this world at least, that Al could be himself. He could be Alphonse Elric. He wasn't Fletcher Tringham, youngest son of a simple merchant from Hamburg. And he wasn't merely Edward Elric's little brother anymore, not with that National Alchemist title that had been posthumously stabbed into his back by Mustang. He wasn't the spitting image of the famous brother he lost anymore.

And he wasn't the spitting image of his infamous father, either. His button-up shirts were cream, but with a wide collar, open at the neck and making him look very approachable. The tea-colored vests were equally well-designed, and could be both casual or formidable, depending on how he wore them. His trousers weren't that different from Ed's own, and the matching, medium brown overcoat was completely unlike their father's overly-dandy apparel. It was made of a weather-resistant material, good for carrying things and keeping a body warm on a cold night.

Al's clothes were built for travel, like his, and they'd been made well. They'd last a long time if they were careful with them.

They'd need to put in a good word regarding their tailor, if anyone asked.

He was anticipating a less . . . dignified welcome. He could almost hear the shouts of the enlisted men. Oh, he looks just like he did before, how cute! Look, his little brother is still taller than he is! I bet he's still wearing the same automail!

"Don't look so evil early in the morning," Pinako reprimanded, and Ed's smirk devolved into a full grin.

"Just thinking about later," he explained easily, uncurling his legs so that they were extended, and resting a couple stairs below the rest of him. Then he leaned back on his elbows and let his head fall back onto his shoulders.

His right shoulder wouldn't relax quite as far as it used to, and he shook his head as he sat up properly.

"That armor going to work out?"

Funny, her asking that when she'd helped Winry design and produce it. "I think so." He held up his right hand, flexing his real fingers inside the metal. He'd spent the better part of the last week and a half training in it, running sensei's basic forms over and over and over again. That had been good; it had centered him, kept his mind focused on only the motion. He still wasn't looking forward to his first combat situation in them, though.

Winry padded it as well as she could, but the fact was that there was very little metal and insulation between a sword blade and his actual flesh. The alloy would stand up to it, but his actual arm was going to take the majority of the strike in that case. The bionics would allow him to keep fighting even if the arm inside was broken or crushed, which was a plus, but the idea that when he damaged it, it was actually going to hurt . . .

Things did change.

He held the limb out in front of him, pointing his palm at the rising sun and admiring the back of the forearm. She'd thickened the armor there significantly, to give him enough material to transmute without weakening it too badly.

Winry really had thought of everything.

He'd need to thank her for this.

Ed dropped the limb onto his lap, watching the first bright portion of the sun peeking over the line of trees. It was bright, and the light began to warm his face a little.

"Funny how I finally got it back, and now I'm stuffing it into automail," he added. Pinako just snorted.

"Automail's better anyway. Thinking about replacing my own hip."

He glanced at her, finally, not quite sure she was kidding, and a quick assessment of her expression didn't clear up the question. She was staring at the rising sun as well, and the two of them didn't so much as jump when a terrific clang rang through the early morning.

The quiet muttering of Al, probably apologizing, eventually emerged from the house, and after a few moments the front door creaked on too-stressed hinges. Ed turned back to the sun, trying to gauge the time.

Al had always been better at telling time by the sun. Probably because as a suit of armor he could stare at it all day long without risking any damage to his eyes.

"That about it?"

There was the raspy sound of a new suitcase being placed on the porch, followed by vertebrae popping as his brother stretched. "Should be."

Pinako had been standing as Ed knew she would be, her hands clasped behind her back and her pipe firmly gripped between her teeth. She finally brought one arm in front of her to grasp the pipe's bowl, and her voice was less distorted when she spoke again.

"Behave. An occasional call would be nice. I packed your lunch." She thrust her chin at Al's feet, where a nice basket lay next to Ed's new suitcase. "Have a good trip."

Ed took one last, deep breath of the pipe smoke before he stood, rather lazily, and glanced around. Den had been keeping him company for the last half-hour or so, and despite the graying muzzle and the obvious toll the years had taken on his form, he still got to his feet as well, shaking off the morning dew that had collected on his coat before wandering over to this new, tall man in the brown coat and giving him a good sniff.

Den apparently approved, at any rate, because he gave a half-hearted but deep-chested woof before trotting off the porch to go christen one of the bushes in the yard as a farewell gesture.

Of all the things that remained the same, that was one of the few Ed could do without. Apparently Den only did it when they visited, which seemed very weird. Like he was showing off that this was _his_ turf to the other automail dog that had wandered up.

Argh. It was probably going to be harder to drag Mustang into a fight these days, since he'd have guards on him at all times. What a pain.

"So let's go." He reached across the porch to pick up his suitcase, as Al embraced Aunt Pinako.

"Thanks for everything," he mumbled into her shoulder, and the old woman just patted his arm.

"Visit once in a while. That apple pie Winry made for you wasn't so bad."

Al laughed, and grabbed both his suitcase and the basket. Ed waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs for him to catch up, and Den brushed against his left leg before getting an affectionate rub from Al. His brother stopped at his side, and the two of them looked back over their shoulders to see Winry waiting in the door.

Al had probably already said his goodbye, seeing as she was remaining in the doorframe.

Ed just shook his head slightly, and turned for the road. They hadn't mentioned that conversation again, not during meals, the refittings, the training . . . He didn't know what she and Al had talked about in the twenty or so minutes they'd been down in the basement, and no amount of beating his brother had gotten him more details. Al said that she'd called him stupid, and he'd agreed, and that had been that. A little news about Central, a brief history of what had happened in Amestris since they'd left, and of course, that last little gift Mustang had put into place, should they ever return –

He'd probably done it so Al couldn't use the practical as an excuse to clobber him. If Ed couldn't all those years ago, at least Al was still better at hand-to-hand, and now he had that neat wind trick up his sleeve.

Al was already walking, waving one hand in the air as he started the long trek back to the train station. That road, it hadn't changed much either. The little bits of gravel had gotten a bit more packed down, like someone in town had gotten a car, but they were the same pieces of rock that had been on that path for as long as he'd run down it. Many of their journeys had started on this road, for better or worse. He still recalled the number of steps it took to get to the train station.

Of course, his stride was longer now. He was going to have to count them again.

Ed jammed his free hand into his pocket, and he waited.

It didn't take Al long to figure out he wasn't following, and his brother spun on his heel, backing up a few more steps before he stopped. His look was curious, but he didn't say anything.

And nothing else happened.

Ed sighed, and looked back over his shoulder again. "Winry, we're going to miss the train."

The sun was directly in front of him, but though he was turned, the halo it had created still partially blinded him. She was shadowed in the doorway, and he couldn't read her expression, but it didn't take long before he heard her voice.

"So go already. No sparring," she added. "Not even a little."

He set the suitcase down in the road, and turned so that he could more easily see her.

"Stupid, like we'd spar on a train. Get a move on. Next one's not till this afternoon, and it'll make us late for the inauguration."

Another silence. Damn, she wasn't quick in the mornings, was she. He was going to have to phrase it as an invitation, and Al was going to give him a hard enough time as it was –

"-oh," she said, and then she disappeared into the house.

Gravel crunched to his right, and Al set his luggage and the basket down beside Ed's again. Pinako didn't appear moved by the sudden change in plans, just stood there with her round-lensed glasses reflecting the perfect morning back at them.

She'd seen governments come and go, so she wouldn't come with them even if they asked. And Winry wasn't going to be too keen to see Mustang up there, leading the country. But at least she'd see him take that seat standing next to them.

Not behind them. Not waiting.

No point in starting a new journey by making an old mistake.

There was a heavy sound from the house, followed by expletives, and the phrases 'inconsiderate' and 'no time to pack,' were just loud enough that they could hear there was no venom in them.

He'd been right about the metallic crash; she had been packing a spare set of armor for him. Probably just leaving it by the door so she could grab it on her way out, when he called her to say he'd busted it up. It wouldn't be that hard to transmute except for all the little pistons and things in it. Al had suggested, if that happened, he should just say he transmuted it into real limbs using the Philosopher's Stone.

Al was sometimes under the impression that he was funnier than he really was.

But he didn't say anything smart, he just stood there silently as they listened to her rummaging around the house. When he finally took a breath to speak, Ed braced himself for the inevitable joke.

"We really might miss the train, you know."

Ed leaned all his weight on his armored leg, testing the balance again. "I know."

" . . .she's probably going to ask if we're paying."

Ed sighed. "I wonder if my accounts are still intact."

"They're not."

Ed glanced at his younger brother, and received a toothy grin in response. "Mustang emptied them and gave them to last of kin."

Ed contemplated taking back his promise not to spar with Al. "You spent my money?"

"It wasn't like I had research money just handed to me by the State! Besides, you weren't using it."

"So how are we paying for the tickets?"

Al toed a piece of gravel. "Gee, doesn't that look like currency to you, brother?"

"I think it would look a lot better if the iron content were higher. Care to give a little blood for the cause?"

- x -

"What a zoo."

The dark-haired woman at his side just rolled her eyes, already standing on the balls of her feet in an effort to see over the crowd. He was beginning to wonder if they shouldn't have just sent for Armstrong and been done with it. If that guy couldn't see over the crowds, he'd certainly be able to clear them.

Then again, while he was technically still in the military, as a National Alchemist, he hadn't been in a uniform more than a handful of times in the past six or so years. Maybe five, actually . . . he couldn't really remember if Armstrong had bailed at the same time or after Mustang had.

Then again, his discharge hadn't been a full one, really. He'd recertified right after Parliament had started changing the National Alchemist requirements, and he was able to keep the certification without serving the military. He hadn't gotten a research stipend, but his family was filthy rich, so he didn't really care. He kept the title, which was really all he cared about. The rest of his family were all decorated generals, so rather than sully their name by being unable to be promoted, he was able to bring them pride by being one of the famed State Alchemists.

And neither an Armstrong nor a famed State Alchemist would've been shoved through the crowd on a busy platform while he was trying to find a relatively short man and his brother.

. . . who were both State Alchemists . . .

Denny Brosh reached out and gently secured the arm of his partner. "I have an idea."

First Lieutenant Maria Ross allowed herself to be pulled out of traffic, and Denny maneuvered them over to a lamppost that happened to be protecting a crate in its lee.

"Ed doesn't do crowds. See if you can find an island in this mess, and it'll be him."

She just nodded, using her shoulder to assist in levering herself up onto the tall crate. He watched her systematically search the sea of people, one slender hand shading her eyes from the glare coming off the open end of the platform.

It was very early afternoon, about three hours before the inauguration was to take place, and the noisily unloading train was the first of three that would have stopped by Resembool. They really weren't sure which train Ed and Al would have taken, but knowing how stir-crazy Ed used to get during downtime, he was betting it was this one. The question was whether or not anyone had told Al he was supposed to come along. He supposed it wasn't a sure bet the brothers would stick together as closely as they had, but he just couldn't imagine that one would show up without the other.

A particularly burly and sour-smelling man nearly bowled him over, without so much as a grunt, and the Master Sergeant reminded himself mentally that it was just for the day, maybe two, before there was breathing space in Central again. This congestion could have been handled better, but notice had been extremely short. After taking criticism for dragging their feet on everything else, and the uranium bomb fiasco increasing hostilities on the borders, the ceremony was occurring just days after the vote was in. It hadn't given Amestris much time to arrange the parade grounds or the city transportation for the sudden inrush of citizens.

And it didn't give the new Prime Minister much time to tie up his other affairs, but then again, Mustang had been preparing for this day for nearly a decade.

And for his part, Denny was okay with shouldering a bit more of the Major General's work. After all, today was the day Mustang was going to announce all the women in the military would have to wear miniskirts. And if this had happened three days ago, then Maria would have been on that crate in her new uniform, and if she had been, he'd have seen all the way up to her –

"Edward! Alphonse!"

She waved merrily, then hopped down and started off through the crowd without a second look.

Typical.

Denny followed her as closely as possible, and very soon the crowd thinned to expose a thunderous glare, topped with blonde hair pulled back in a braid, nesting on top of a familiar-looking red overcoat –

The sergeant major would have stopped in surprise if he had had room to do so.

The man walking towards them was almost unrelated to the Edward Elric that had appeared in the hallway.

He looked like Ed, but not. He was taller, noticeably now that he was dressed like his old self, and more filled out without looking any less . . . lean. Not wiry, more sort of coiled. He was wearing the same familiar expression of extreme irritation, though, which was causing everyone but his two companions to give him more than enough elbow room.

Alphonse looked nothing like he'd looked in the hallway, either. His smiling face had some color now, and his darker blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. The stubble was still there, and it made him look so much more grown up. Of course, he'd be around twenty-two, now, so he was grown up –

Brosh tried not to look disapproving when the first lieutenant allowed herself to be swept into a hug.

Beside Edward was his automail mechanic, Winry Rockbell. That was a surprise; were there problems with Ed's fake automail? She didn't seem overly concerned about it, though, and was gazing around her at the bustle and activity with interest. He'd seen her very briefly when she'd stopped by the offices about three weeks ago, and she, at least, looked exactly the same. He maneuvered around the circle to take her suitcase, which she allowed him to do.

"Oh, thanks very much!"

"Did you have a good trip?"

She nodded as the five of them continued towards the opposite side of the platform. It was hard to talk over the crowd, but Maria and Al seemed to be deep in conversation by the time they all emerged onto the sunlit streets of Central.

It was fairly busy in front of the terminal, but as they had been sent to pick up very important guests, they had been allowed to park the military car right in front of the station. Denny took the keys from the private that had been keeping an eye on it, and in no time luggage was stowed in the back and he was easing away from the curb into traffic.

"It's going to take us a while to get there," he said apologetically, waving a hand at the stopped cars in front of them. "Did you get a chance to eat yet?"

"Yes, Aunt Pinako packed us lunch," Alphonse replied, studying the view from the passenger window. Edward was directly behind him, with Winry in the middle and Maria behind the driver. "You'd think she knew three of us were going when she did it, too –"

"No, she just remembered how much Ed used to eat," Winry retorted. "Glad to see he's outgrown that."

"You haven't seen him in front of a plate of kaiserschmarrn. And he ate three pieces of my pie last night."

Ed took the ribbing good-naturedly. "It even had heavy cream on it. That's a milk product. Aren't you proud?"

Maria Ross laughed. "If I recall correctly, you used to voluntarily eat cheese as a child. That's a milk product too."

"And stew," Ed agreed. "Actually, in London there was a little tea shop that would flavor milk with fruit juice, and that wasn't too terrible."

"So that's why you got taller!"

Denny glanced in the rear view mirror, not surprised to see that Ed's left eye was twitching.

"Oy, Maria, don't tease him with Ms. Rockbell between you two! It's cowardly!"

"Did you just call me a coward?" Her voice was dangerously low.

Denny rolled his eyes and took advantage of a break in traffic to sneak a few cars up in line. "You two are a bad influence on her," he told the brothers.

"Can we not upset the two people I'm sitting between?" Winry's voice sounded serious, but another glance in the mirror showed she was smiling.

"Oy, that reminds me – Ed hasn't broken his . . . er, automail already, has he? Or are you here to see the inauguration?"

Winry shook her head, giving the man beside her a dark look. "Not yet," she admitted. "Although he's only been in Central about ten minutes, so I figure it's a little early even for an over-achiever like him. I'm just here to see our great government at work."

The last sounded a bit bitter, and when Denny glanced in the mirror again, Maria's eyes were boring into his own.

Obviously a bad subject.

"I'm afraid all you're going to see are crowds." Traffic was moving a bit better than he expected, but not much. "The Parliament didn't give us much time to get everything in place, and the public works department has been at it non-stop for pretty much two days straight."

"And I'm certain all the hotels are booked," Maria said worriedly. "If you need a place to stay, Winry –"

"We'll put her up," Ed cut in from the backseat.

Oh.

Oh!

Well, Edward had known her for a long time, and he'd just spent a few weeks with her, and they weren't kids anymore, but . . . Denny risked a glance at Alphonse. Was he okay with that?

Al didn't look surprised, but he did look a little amused. "Something tells me we won't be using our rooms much," he explained. "Brother hasn't been by the First Library in a long time, and we understand some of his reports have been published into texts. Besides, we didn't need two suites to start."

That was true; since they were both State Alchemists, a room each had probably been reserved for them in the officer's palisade. Then again, when they'd last shared a room, Al had been armor and hadn't needed sleep. But they'd been living together in another world for years, apparently in the military, so they were probably used to tighter quarters.

"And all of your notes, Alphonse," Maria added. "Since you were both listed as dead, I'm afraid the proceeds of the sales have gone into scholarships in both your names, but I'm certain the libraries will reimburse you if you ask."

"I'd rather have the texts pulled," Ed growled. "Not yours," he added to the front seat. Al just nodded.

"My notes weren't as dangerous as yours, nii-san. Unless, you published my notes on the Stone . . .?"

Maria made a face in the backseat. "I'm afraid you'll need to talk to the Prime Minister about that."

The car was quiet for a few seconds, the only sounds the rumbling of motors and the occasional honk or shout from the sidewalk. Ed's voice, when he finally spoke, was absolutely flat. "You've got to be kidding me."

Denny turned in his seat to catch the younger man's eyes. "Edward, you have to understand, even though the public didn't see you disappear, or the city below Central, the array in Lior . . . there were hundreds of witnesses. Rumors that a Philosopher's Stone was involved ran rampant-"

"I'd forgotten about that," Al murmured. "He's right, nii-san. By the time I'd finished studying under sensei again, it was a known fact that you'd transmuted or found a Philosopher's Stone, and then disappeared."

"That was the only rumor that we could fuel that wouldn't case mass treasure hunts," Denny tried again. "Since only a few people survived . . . what happened . . . the Major Gene-ah, damn it, I did it again," he groused. "The Prime Minister. He sort of became the keeper of all the information that had been gathered. Then, after the Thule Invasion, when the city below Central was revealed to the public, it was just assumed that that city had something to do with the Stone-"

"And it became the city that died in a single day because of the Stone," Maria finished. "Like Lior. That rumor wasn't hard to start, seeing as it was the truth. In the last four years all kinds of conspiracy theorists have postulated that Edward found that city and tried to bring back the residents, disappearing himself, or that the city beneath Central was cursed and spat forth demons on the anniversary of Ed's disappearance. There was nothing we could do about those rumors, so we allowed them."

Ed was silent, but Al leaned forward in interest. "So what's the official stand, then? Did Ed commit a crime by transmuting the Stone? We thought it was weird that no one tried to enter our car on the train even though it was packed . . ."

"Officially, Edward Elric came into possession of a Philosopher's Stone through unknown means, and disappeared shortly thereafter," Maria recited. "The Prime Minister released all of the notes and research that didn't contradict that information. Everything other than that is pure speculation. Some citizens reported seeing his ghost in the city on the day of the Thule Invasion, following his younger brother, but that was never confirmed."

"And his heroic younger brother sacrificed his life to stop the attack," Denny recalled. "With the help of a disgraced corporal that had abandoned his post in the North to assist Amestris in her hour of need."

"He totally piggybacked onto our plan," Ed griped from the backseat.

"And he prevented us from being torn to pieces by canons," Al reminded his brother shortly. "I don't know that we could have taken Eckhart's ship without injury if he hadn't been there."

Ed crossed his arms and glared out the window. "I can't believe he really published our notes. All of it? Transmutation circle drawings, our conjectures . . . ?"

Denny exchanged a look with his partner before he responded. "Well, I'm sure he modified or changed the exact details on how you did it, if they were even recorded . . ."

He could almost hear the smirk in Edward's voice. "The worst of it was encrypted. I wonder if he figured out my algorithms . . . I can't wait to get five minutes alone with that bastard."

"Well, good luck with that," Denny chuckled. "There have been two attempts on his life in the past week, so the colonel's taken to keeping an eye on him personally."

"You're kidding." This time it was Al, and he looked stunned. "Hakuro really-"

Denny shook his head, contemplating taking a shortcut down Market Street for a brief moment before deciding it was probably a bad idea. "Not the General. Probably the Drachmans. The first one died from his wounds before he could be questioned, and the second took poison."

Winry made a small noise, and Denny heard Maria rubbing her back. "We shouldn't speak of these things with a civilian in the car-"

"It's okay," Winry said quickly. "I'm just glad . . . that he didn't get killed."

Al moved suddenly in Denny's peripheral vision, but he didn't say anything.

"So were we," Denny agreed. "If the Drachmans were that afraid of him as a candidate, maybe the fact that he now has the power to declare war will give them pause."

"What made you think it was the Drachmans?" Ed's voice was considering. "I thought we were having border conflicts on three sides."

"We are," Maria agreed, folding her hands back in her lap. "One of the assassins posed as a delivery man with a gift basket of exotic fruits. Sheska recognized the decorative grass in the bottom from a book that stated it only grew on the south face of the Briggs mountains."

"That's Sheska," Al murmured. "But that could have been planted to avert suspicion from elsewhere."

"Mustang thought the same thing," Denny told them. "He spent three and a half hours in Hakuro's office trying to talk him out of retaliating."

"Hakuro always was good at following orders," Ed mused. "I wonder if he'll follow Mustang's."

"I certainly hope so." Maria's voice was worried. "The Parliament looks especially weak for having to elect a leader outside of the House, and after the bomb . . . this country is either about to get its act together, or it's going to crumble." Then she chuckled. "You two always did have good timing."

Ed just groaned and leaned his forehead against the window.

"You couldn't wait to get back here," his brother reminded him good-naturedly, and Ed just thumped his head once against the glass in response.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Okay, seriously. The next chapter will be the last chapter. I have every last scene mapped out in my brain. There are five. Of course, I only got to two in this chapter . . . augh! Okay, so two more chapters? How can I be this pathetic! Ack! Standard typo apology – I think I found 'em all, but historically I think that's really only a fifty-fifty thing.

K – I have no way to PM you, so I will answer your question here. I have not yet stated explicitly how Ed's automail was discovered and removed, just that it happened sometime in the last two days he was in Germany, and it happened after Ed had learned that some of his research was being used to kill humans. Also, Ed revealed that he and Mustang didn't talk much during the time Al left them alone in his hospital room. Ed did _not_ say they were completely silent the whole time.

And that's all I'm saying about that. ; )


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Damn.

There was no way out.

He kept his arms extended, half to prevent the soldiers from opening fire, half to prevent the prisoners from rushing the guard. They'd be cut down; another several corporals had appeared from thin air, and behind them he could see Albrecht's blood-streaked face.

Damn!

"The reason we use these," the voice was much more nasal than usual, "is so good doctors like yourself don't have to die to prove your work."

He bared his teeth. He knew he had to look a sight, with half his braid undone and in his face, his shirt and vest spattered with blood. Half of it was the speaker's; the other half had been donated by three or four other enlisted men that hadn't managed to get back up. Currently, his bravado was enough to stay their fire, but that wasn't going to last forever.

There was no escape behind them. He knew they were below ground level, and while he'd never seen this section of the complex, he knew the layout of the structure above. They were about fifty yards down the east wall, probably near the generators and the large exhaust pipes -

Ed cursed softly.

The exhaust pipes.

God, he was such an idiot.

"Tringham." Captain Albrecht was losing patience. "You don't belong in there."

"These are German citizens!" His voice was shaking with rage. "Where else would I belong!?"

"Somebody go find Dr. Klein," he heard the man mutter. "Tell him Tringham's snapped."

The sobbing behind him was growing louder, and he dared to turn his head slightly. "I won't let them hurt you," he said in a low voice. "Please stay calm."

"They are _not_ Germans!" Albrecht sounded disgusted. "Look at them, doctor! Look at their skin, their eyes! They are inferior to you in every way!"

"I am looking," he shot back, staring down the soldiers. "And it's not your skin that makes you inferior!" He took a step forward, relieved to see the first line of soldiers fall a step back. If he could get them out of the doorway, the gypsies behind him would at least have a fighting chance. "These experiments stop _now_, Captain!"

Rupert's eyes, already narrowed by the swelling around his broken nose, flashed at the order. "My apologies, Dr. Tringham," he wheezed through his ruptured septum. "But unless I'm mistaken, I can't stop an experiment until it's begun, can I."

Edward took another step forward, and this time the line of soldiers at the main door didn't give an inch. The hallway the cells opened into was very narrow; with his arms outstretched, he could actually touch both walls. There were six cells, all with the same sealing hatch, and tiny round glass observation windows. The cells themselves were completely empty save a drain in the middle of the floor and a three inch square ventilation grate in the wall.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were for. Or an alchemist.

Edward was certain the men and women behind him knew exactly what they were doing in that facility. While they'd no doubt been rounded up from the hills around Stuttgart, few of them actually seemed to speak German. He had identified one woman as speaking Polish but he didn't know the language well enough to respond. They wouldn't be able to follow directions, and they likely didn't understand what he was saying.

He wasn't going to be able to keep them calm forever.

The captain glared down the hallway, signaling for something, and behind Edward, one of the men yelled out something that sounded very much like a challenge. Did Albrecht intend to pump gas into all the cells, thereby flooding the hallway as well? Because they could just close the cell hatches –

"Last chance, doctor," the captain growled. "I won't even press assaul-"

With the softest grinding whisper of leather on concrete, one of the men behind Edward suddenly rushed forward.

Everything seemed to happen very quickly. Edward threw his right arm out higher, trying to keep it chest level with the Slavic man that was trying to rush the guard. One of the uniformed soldiers fired, and Ed barely flinched as he felt the shot ricochet off the automail. He didn't see where it ended up, but the force of it knocked his arm back into the gypsy, successfully stopping his charge.

It didn't stop all the people that had been spurred to action because of him.

There had been five people per cell, and six cells, making the hallway very crowded. Ed couldn't stop them all. He was pushed to the ground at a sudden flurry of bullets, and he reflexively curled in a ball as the prisoners began to panic. In no time the wave of over two dozen had passed over him, and Ed cautiously opened his eyes, peeking around the arm he'd protectively wrapped around his head.

He was on his side, staring directly into one of the cells. A whitish vapor was pouring out of the grate, falling swiftly towards the floor of the cell.

So Albrecht had ordered them to turn on the gas.

To incapacitate the prisoners, or to kill them? If the charge was successful, if the gypsies could prevent the soldiers from closing the hall door –

The main corridor door was a sealable hatch, just like the cell doors. It was the second line of defense, protecting the soldiers and the observing scientists from the gas if one of the gaskets around the cell doors began to leak. It was a thick door, and there had been about six men out there before the volley had been fired -

Ed scrambled to his feet, eyes going for the hallway door even as his body reached for the cell hatches. Many of the gypsies had been shot, and more injured. But a sizable number were now braced against the door, shoving with all their might as the German soldiers fought to close it from the opposite side. He couldn't tell who was winning, but he knew the prisoners would quickly lose strength when the gas started displacing air.

He gripped the cell hatch, swinging it closed with a resounding clang before taking a deep breath of the clean hall air. He was in the process of turning for the cell opposite him when the cries at the end of the hallway became more urgent, and he looked up in time to see a sloshing of clear liquid come through the gap between the half-closed hatch and the wall. The liquid landed more on the gypsies than it did the floor, but it was quickly followed with another -

And then the same whitish vapor began rising off the men and women themselves.

He knew it wasn't carbon monoxide. There was no liquid reagent.

That was sulphur dioxide.

There were no drains in the hallway corridor. No place for the reacting liquids to go.

"Hold your breath!" he bellowed, pulling the next cell door closed and taking his own advice. All the cells were filling with the same gas as the hallway, but he wasn't sure of the concentrations, whether it would be better to consolidate all the available air or keep the hallway separate.

Even if they had understood German, he wasn't sure they even heard him over the cries. He pulled all the doors shut he could, but he was unable to get to the two cells closest to the hallway door. The men and women that had been shot lay scattered on the floor, and those succumbing to the gas were tripping over them in their haste to get to the other end of the hallway. Some of the ones that had been coated with the liquids were trying to do the same, and their companions were actually striking them in an effort to keep them away.

This was his fault.

Eventually Ed had to take another breath.

It was astonishing how quickly the oxygen emptied out of his blood. A few deep breaths of the gas and he realized he would have been unconscious in thirty seconds or less. As it was, he just pressed himself against the wall, trying to stand as tall as possible, while the gas displaced air. A man no older than he was stumbled into reach, and Edward grabbed him, shoving him against the wall and holding him upright.

But he was already too far gone. Ed could see how glazed his eyes were, and his knees were buckling.

There was too much gas.

They were all going to suffocate.

The area around the hallway door had cleared somewhat as the gypsies had fled to the opposite end, which had been the intent of the Germans. With no one pushing against the hallway hatch, they'd managed to close and seal it. There was no mechanism to open it from the inside, and he could see a dim outline of someone watching through the observation window.

Time to give them something worth watching.

Ed hopped into the air to take his next breath, then walked towards the door, conserving what oxygen he'd managed to snag. When he reached the door, he raised his right fist and struck the glass, squarely.

Despite the added strength of the automail, he only managed to completely shatter the thick glass, without actually pushing it out of its frame. The second blow accomplished this, and he took advantage of the soldiers' surprise to stick his face in the round hole, greedily gulping air.

The sulphur dioxide was making his eyes water, but Ed clearly made out the guns, and he ducked out of the window, pressing his back to the hallway door. When one of the Lugers poked inside, he grabbed it, wrestling it away from the startled soldier before turning it around and firing blindly into the outer corridor. Once he'd scattered the guards, he took another deep breath, then took a step back, and aimed a kick at the door.

The observation window was too high for him; he wouldn't be able to reach through to the valve on the opposite side of the door, automail or not. The only other thing that would work quickly enough was destroying the gasket, the seal around the door.

But the people that were still able to move had seen that he'd broken the window.

Hands snaked out of nowhere, grabbing his uniform, his arms, his hair. Edward fought against them with everything he had. He didn't waste air with yelling; they wouldn't understand him anyway. Another kick and he'd have it, but if they rushed that window only a handful would continue to be able to breathe, and those would just get shot –

An elbow landed against his right temple, and before Ed realized it he was on his back, and he'd taken a breath. The cries of the gypsies began to get less distinct, and even the pistol reports were soft -

"Who gets shot but doesn't bleed?"

"It's cold inside!"

"Look at his fingers . . ."

Before he could stop himself, Edward opened his eyes.

Barely. He could barely slit them open. His body felt heavier than lead, he couldn't even swallow the burning sludge in his throat, couldn't shift his tongue. The light was blinding and shapes were blurred, and he could feel that his eyes were wet.

He'd only been out a few minutes, then.

They'd opened the doors.

Edward closed his eyes again, lest they realize he was conscious, and took slow, deep breaths. He knew he'd taken some damage from the gas itself besides oxygen deprivation, but if he was conscious this fast, it wasn't debilitating.

But what about the Slavs?

"You almost killed him!" The voice was the first familiar one, and it sounded like Klein. When had he gotten there? "Are you idiots? Russell's a genius! Barely over twenty, and-"

"He's a monster." The voice was nasal – Albrecht. "Look at his arm."

Ed resisted the urge to wince. The bullet. The bullet that had hit his automail would have ripped the rubber glove.

And the glass he shattered might have cut the rubber off his fingers as well.

"Look what he did to the door. That glass was two inches thick. And he nearly knocked it off the hinges."

There was a brief pause, and Edward took another deep breath. His body was becoming more responsive, his head clearer. He knew there had to be at least four people. The voices he'd heard when he'd first come around . . . they were silent now. Where were they? They had to be close. Another few minutes and he might have a chance –

"You said the prisoners were free . . ." Klein's voice was nearer, but doubting. "I'm certain they simply rushed the door-"

"Look inside the wound. It's not just that he's not bleeding." Albrecht sounded almost frightened. "It's metal inside."

He heard motion to his right, and the unmistakable sound of scissors.

So much for his cover. Of course, even if he'd succeeded in saving those people, he'd have given himself away. All he could do now was overpower the soldiers in whatever room he was in and try to get the bomb –

"Oh my god."

He took another breath, this one deep enough that his irritated lungs had had enough. He couldn't stop the reflexive cough.

"He's conscious!"

_Damn._

Edward snapped his eyes open, swinging his right arm in a wide arc. He'd been right; their voices had placed them beside him and his sudden strike hit both Klein and Albrecht, albeit glancingly. He could see now that he'd just been dragged out into the main corridor, and they had been crouched down beside him.

Ed picked up his head, hurriedly scanning the hallway. There were three other soldiers, not two, only a few feet away. The first voices he'd heard. None had a weapon drawn.

He threw himself to his feet, intending to charge them, when the floor skittered out from beneath him. Startled, Ed tried to recover, but the wall wasn't where it looked like it should be. Before he even realized he was back on the ground, there was weight on his back, pressing the air from his lungs and making him choke.

"Shoot him!"

"No! Wait!"

Ed threw his head back, striking the man pinning him in the chin. The sudden shift disoriented him further, and before he could take advantage of the successful attack more weight shoved against him.

"Hold him-"

"Keep that arm pinned!"

"Corporal! Bring me that jar!"

He twisted beneath the soldiers, fighting to extend his automail arm. They were clinging pretty tenaciously to it, to the point he was starting to actually drag them off him. Something heavy struck the back of his head, and it was a long time before voices cut through the dull buzz in his ears.

"Let's get him up."

It felt like the floor suddenly shifted beneath him, and there were hands on his face. A thumb pulled open one of his eyelids, and he barely made out Klein. It was too hard to focus on him, determine his expression, and after a moment his eyelid was released.

He didn't quite have the strength to open it again.

"You're amazing," the doctor complimented him. "I wonder how many of your limbs are metal, Herr Tringham."

Ed tried to open his eyes again, succeeding only in making out blurred lights that seemed to move.

Moving. They were carrying him somewhere.

"He's coming around again –"

"At ease, Captain. He's far too valuable to kill, wouldn't you agree?"

Something thick and wet was pressed against his face, and Ed tried to shake it off. All he managed was a weak twitch. He tried to hold his breath, but two carefully placed fingers pressed deep into his diaphragm, and he involuntarily inhaled.

The strange vapors rolled into his lungs, both stinging and numbing, and his startled mind had enough time to register it as chloroform before –

"Edward?"

Ed shook his head slightly, tearing his gaze off the highly glossed whorls of wood he'd been staring at. The early afternoon light reflected on the mahogany desk brightly, generating a very warm glow, much like firelight. He dragged his eyes back up to the cool, stern face of Vato Falman, and tried to remember what the man had asked him.

Oh. Right.

"I tried to free the prisoners used in the experiments." His voice sounded emotionless even to his own ears. "I failed. During the attempt I caught a bullet with my automail, and the rubber sleeve covering was torn. After I was captured, the automail was discovered and removed."

Falman's face was its normal solemn mask, his long, narrow eyes nearly slits as he concentrated on his writing. Anyone else would have been making scribbling noises with their pen, but somehow, despite the speed at which Falman put words to paper, the pen never sounded as though it was inflicting damage. It seemed to flow from character to character effortlessly, and the effect was rather soothing.

"Then what happened?"

He had been using that same prompt for the better part of the last twenty minutes. Never judging, never asking for more details. Simply gathering the offered data, and nothing more.

He was suddenly, inordinately grateful to Colonel Hawkeye for assigning his debriefing to the First Lieutenant. He wasn't certain it would have been this easy if it had been Breda, or Havoc, or really anyone else.

"I was treated as a British spy." Really, all they'd done was realize that Ed also spoke fluent English. He was pretty sure Klein had known all along that there was something much bigger at work, but he'd never said anything.

He'd been too excited about the automail.

"I woke up in a cell without the automail." After the chloroform, the first thing he clearly remembered was coming to, face-down in a holding cell, lying in hard-packed filth about an inch thick. He'd had enough time to roll onto his back and look over the dim, windowless room before keys had rattled in the iron lock, and they'd dragged him back to a laboratory. "My ex research partner, Dr. Klein, was granted permission to study the automail, with the hopes of application to German soldiers in preparation for the war."

Klein's study hadn't gone so well. At first he'd tried direct questions, which Ed refused to answer. But it hadn't taken them long to find his weakness.

"They told me they had Al. Said they'd told him that I'd had an accident." It sounded so simple, and it had been. Albrecht had marched into the lab, his nose stuffed with cotton, and handed Klein a rectangle of paper. Ed had just glared from the table, unable to get up even if thick leather straps hadn't been immobilizing him.

Rupert Albrecht had smirked at him. "Herr Fletcher just returned from his deployment. He's very concerned about you, Russell. He seems to think you wouldn't have been so careless in the laboratory."

"He's lucky his station requires him to get routine physicals once every six months," Klein observed, handing the piece of paper back to the captain. "Obviously your brother does not share your unique traits, Tringham."

Ed gritted his teeth and remained silent.

"It would be difficult to hide this secret from your brother, seeing as you both list the same address as your place of residence," Albrecht continued, eyeing Edward up and down. He'd been stripped of his uniform to better expose the automail ports, and the perpetual cold of the German winter had seeped into his very bones.

It hadn't held a candle to the chill that gripped his stomach as he thought of what they might do to Al.

"Therefore he's likely a spy as well," the captain concluded regretfully, turning back for the door. "I'll make arrangements, Dr. Klein."

Ed lessened his glare with effort, and unglued his jaw. "Wait."

The captain continued as though he hadn't spoken, pulling open the door unhurriedly.

"Wait!"

He cast an expectant look over his shoulder. "Why would I do that, Dr. Tringham?"

"Then what happened?" Falman's voice dragged him back to the present again.

Ed blinked, slouching in the chair so that his face tilted towards the ceiling. "I agreed to help them in exchange for his life."

"What help did you give them?"

"I told them I had gotten the automail from gypsies." Klein had bought it instantly, as he'd seen Ed's desperate dash out of the lab as soon as he'd put all the pieces together. "I told them I didn't know much about the inner workings, but I agreed not to try escape if they put the automail back on."

That hadn't gone so well. Just the memory of those repeated attempts made his stomach curl into his spine.

"Then what happened?"

"Klein tried to replace it, but he didn't know what he was doing. I kept passing out." He had vague memories of extremely bright lights, of choking on the bile in his throat, of being unable to tell which way was up and being certain he was about to fall. And pain. Overwhelming, blinding, deafening pain. "I vaguely recall seeing the Gate, and Al, and the next thing I can remember I was back in Central."

Not that he remembered much of that, either, before he'd woken in the hospital to see Havoc sitting on his bed.

Falman nodded to himself, glancing over the sheets of paper briefly. "Is there anything more you'd like to add?"

"No," he responded immediately. He'd covered everything Hawkeye had asked him to. The Gate had to be included, but there was no reason he had to lay out how or why it worked for this military interview. The point was to demonstrate that they'd destroyed the Thule gate, and not given any potential enemies in that world another road into Amestris.

And their return trip was all Al. Who was getting debriefed in a side office right now, just like he was. Probably by Breda, considering he'd been standing next to Falman when they'd first walked in.

"Then I believe we're finished here," Vato concluded, capping his pen before he offered his hand across the table. "Welcome home, Edward."

Ed stared at the grey-haired man a second before he grasped his hand, surprised at the sudden drop of his cold, professional demeanor. "So, I see you've risen in the ranks," he nodded at the man's stripes, and Vato gave him a rare smile. They both stood, waiting for the First Lieutenant to gather the papers before both proceeding into the main office.

"I was promoted to Second Lieutenant before the Thule Invasion," he explained, holding the door open for Edward. "So it's not as much as it looks."

"You deserved it," Ed told him, stepping into the offices and looking around.

After they'd parked the car, Denny and Maria had pretty much shooed them both directly to Mustang's old offices in HQ itself. They'd long ago been occupied by a Colonel Mazo, but Hawkeye had commandeered them back as a sort of base of operations for the Prime Minister's security detail. Despite Denny's words, Ed wasn't that concerned for Roy's safety. If the first assassin died of his injuries, it was probably because he was burned.

And Sheska had discovered the second one before Mustang even had a chance to see him. Although, giving him poisoned fruit was a pretty good idea. He recalled that the man loved food that came in its own edible packaging. He felt fruit was very efficient.

Which was another reason he wondered if the Drachmans weren't the ones they should be looking for.

The offices hadn't changed much. They had the same carpeting, the same large desk at the end of the room, the same side tables and typewriters and phones. And some of the same people. Havoc was nowhere to be seen, but Breda and Al were talking to Hawkeye, and behind them, Sheska was matching names from a list in her hands to squares of cardboard laid out in neat rows.

He and Falman approached the group, and Ed was startled when the up-til-then business-like colonel suddenly enveloped him in a hug.

He was taller than he'd been the first and only time she'd ever embraced him. At that time, his head had fallen somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, and he'd been more embarrassed than anything else by the gesture. Now, he was only a few inches shorter than she was, and he was able to rest his chin on her shoulder.

Haltingly, he returned the hug, and she squeezed him tightly before she let him go, smoothing the creases she'd put into his sleeves as she did so.

"I'm sorry about hustling you two into debriefings," she apologized, turning so that she was now including Al. "The paperwork reinstating your citizenships was processed with . . . unusual alacrity."

Ed scowled. So that was why they'd been treated like they were under arrest since they stepped onto HQ property. He'd been wondering about the cold reception, considering Denny and Maria had been so happy to see them, but now he understood. Better to get business out of the way first. "Hakuro's still after us?"

"Your desertion from the military six years ago still stands," Hawkeye reminded him. "But with the destruction of Lior, there were bigger things for this government to worry about than arresting you." That was probably an understatement, considering she'd known at the time that the Fuhrer was a Homunculus.

"Because of the extenuating circumstances, you are currently not to be placed under arrest or charged until a full inquiry can be launched," she added. "However, we needed to finish debriefing the both of you. Failure to have those documents completed might have resulted in unpleasantness."

Ed digested that information. The Prime Minister could get them out of serious trouble, but he still wasn't sure General Hakuro was going to let the last several weeks slide. Obviously Hawkeye had been worried about the same. Then again, she'd just said they couldn't be arrested, so it wasn't as though he could make a huge scene -

"When was our citizenship reinstated?" Al looked calm. His debriefing hadn't taken as long, nor did it seem like it had taken a toll on him, and Ed found himself relaxing a little bit. From what Al had said in the Rockbell's home, he'd never been in custody, and hadn't been told what had happened to his brother. But that didn't mean that Albrecht, or even General Walthers, couldn't have carried out their threat against his life.

Funny, that the Amestris military probably now knew more details of the last two days they'd spent in Germany than they did.

"Almost four days ago. We were lucky enough no one was sent down to Resembool to drag you back before now." Her tone indicated she really did find this surprising. "Hakuro's been too busy to pursue his pet projects with the increase in hostilities, but it wouldn't stop him from ordering one or both of you taken into 'protective custody' for the remainder of the ceremonies, should you encounter one another prior to the inauguration."

Ah. And having a full debrief on the events that brought them back to this world would eliminate the excuse of 'protective custody,' and also close the book on any future military aggression from that world.

"What happened to Winry?" She'd been with them when they'd been ushered into the offices, but now that he looked around, she wasn't present.

"She went with First Lieutenant Ross to check on the caterers. And you two are about to be late for the State Alchemists' reception." She glanced at the group. "Falman, could you show them to the hall?"

The man nodded at the same time Kain Fuery entered the room. He looked just as short, and just as young as before, and not at all surprised to see them standing there. He offered a sharp salute to the two Elrics and Ed barely remembered to return it. Al didn't even move.

If the colonel noticed their fumbling, she didn't show it. "Were you successful?"

"Well, we got him into it, but there was a little whining," Kain admitted, offering her a pocket-sized clipboard. "The alterations were correct, but he said the collar made his head look like a mushroom."

"If he would cut his hair occasionally . . ." Sheska's voice was slightly muffled by her bent position, still matching nametags to her list.

Heymans Breda was standing besides Al, and he snorted. Loudly. "You didn't tell him his head always looked like a mushroom?"

Ah. They were talking about Mustang.

Falman remained silent, other than to start for the door with a quiet "Please follow me," and Ed exchanged a glance with Al.

"State Alchemists' reception, huh?"

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I have to admit, I really don't like this chapter. I've rewritten it twice, and they say third time's the charm, but it just flows funny to me. I'm very nearly sure the next chapter is the last chapter. I have gotten another suggestion for a plothole, which will be resolved in the next chapter. This should pretty much wrap up any questions regarding Ed's automail discovery and the beginning of the fic – now we've gotten both Al and Ed's account of the last couple days they spent in Germany. All that's left is to swear in Mustang, and that one little plan Mustang has for the two Elrics . . .

Veni, vidi, typi. Did my best, but if they're in there, I'm sorry! Thank you all for the suggestions and the reviews and the faves! And a very special **THANK YOU!** to silverfox2702 for making me **FANART!** I have a lovely lovely Gate-rose, all glowy with tentacles and a very angry Edward in its grasp! I need to find a place to post it up where folks can see it – any ideas?


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Special Plugs Time!**

The lovely and talented silverfox2702 has made this fic some art! GateRoses and Colonel Mushroom Mustang, and some encouragement for me to actually end this monster. ; ) Go to photobucket and search for 'jayamitai.' You should find three pics. Then come back and tell her how nifty she is!

And there's a just excellent introspective manga-based one-shot you guys need to check out. It's by inkydoo, titled "_**Between the Panels**_." A scene that should have happened between Ed and Winry shortly after her discovery of who killed her parents, and the ensuing fight. Hit inkydoo's profile page and check it out – and all the yummy Trigun fic, if you've got time. After all, since you like **one** blonde with a prosthetic arm in a red coat, I don't see why you wouldn't like **another** one. Although Vash is quite a bit taller . . .

- x -

She didn't knock. Then again, she didn't have to. Her light footsteps on the pile carpet were unfamiliar, if only because he'd never heard her walk on pile carpet before. But he knew it was her.

No one else would have been permitted to enter the room.

He never turned from the window, though he couldn't be accused of staring or of daydreaming. He was allowing his eyes to be drawn across the city, by motion and color and sound.

He was looking with both his eyes.

The parade grounds were covered with civilians. Long, orderly stretches of them moved obediently in one direction or the other, taking this visit to Central to tour the government buildings, or introduce their children to the museums and libraries. Squares of color indicated those that were picnicking on the lawns, and bright greens, yellows, and reds dotted the landscape.

Those splotches of color were all there was, amid the white and dust of the crumbled, shadowed buildings. The bright yellow was a rare square of sunlight, filtering in from the jagged holes in the cavernous ceiling. Faded green on long-dead trees still poked up between the ruins, skeletons that massive earthquakes and tragedy had finally revealed. There was no red to mark where the bodies had fallen, because they had simply vanished into a single stone.

His gaze was captured by a pigeon, having feasted on the handouts from a picnicker, flying off to feed its young or notify its mate. He followed it as far as he could see, taking in the city's horizon. The still-visible swaths of Central missing, great scars cut into its shining face.

It didn't look so different to his other eye, only there were thick columns of smoke still rising, and the cries ringing across the shattered city were horrified, too much like Ishbal.

Four years, and this was all the progress Amestris had made.

Would he look out from this view, four years from now, and see nothing but shining white walls and stately new buildings?

What could he really hope to accomplish in three?

"Are you ready?"

He felt a smile tugging at his lips, and he willingly released it. It wasn't sincere, but so many of his smiles had learned to do without, and it was easier than frowning.

"Do you even need to ask?"

She was standing just beside him, looking out the window. If she was trying to follow his gaze, she didn't show it. Knowing her, she was probably looking for snipers, some nest or position she and Havoc had missed.

It was her excuse, and he would let her have it. They'd come up with so many, over the years.

"I wasn't referring to the speech." She settled into a parade rest stance, possibly out of sheer habit. "You waited a long time."

They all had. "I feel like I'm still waiting." After all, one speech, one ceremony – it wasn't about being the 'Fuhrer' or the 'Prime Minister.' It had never been about the title, about the office.

It was about never giving an erroneous order. It was about never making mistakes. It was about fixing the problems, righting the wrongs.

This was just the first day he couldn't screw up anymore. No more mistakes.

This was just the beginning.

"Then you've got it all wrong," Hawkeye told him matter-of-factly, cocking her head to the side as a particularly shrill child demanded the immediate return of his ball. "Being able to issue reasonable orders is the reward, not the obligation."

He took a deep breath, leaning his forehead against the windowframe instead of his shoulder because he was afraid to get dust on his jacket. The seamstress they'd found was a complete hag, very talented but terrifyingly formidable. She would kill him if anything happened to his uniform, considering it was not only the first of its kind, but the _only_ of its kind.

His first order was probably going to be the redesign of the Prime Minister's ceremonial garb. He supposed he looked very much like a respectable member of Parliament, but there was no way he could be expected to fight in this thing.

Of course, no one expected him to.

What they expected him to do was look like a politician. It was what they expected him to act like, too.

There were a lot of expectations. He was rather glad, all things considered, that he had never really given a damn about expectations, other than a silent agreement with himself to meet the ones that mattered.

"He'd be very proud of you."

Prime Minister Roy Mustang cocked an eyebrow at his subordinate, and Colonel Hawkeye pointedly ignored it.

"I'd say he always had been, but it's not true," he admitted after a moment. Finding him in a room with a gun under his chin hadn't been a high point. Studying human transmutation, becoming a drunk, those hadn't been high points either.

Oh, Maes would have kicked his ass for the whole demotion thing, too. He'd made a lot of mistakes on his way here. Now that he stood in this office, looking out this window, he wondered if the cost wasn't going to be worth this 'reward.'

He liked it better as an obligation. Then cost wasn't an issue.

"Don't tell me you're doubting yourself now." Her voice was brisk. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

His smile became wider, but no less meaningless. "I've made that mistake twice already. I don't think anyone survives a third."

Riza sighed softly, the sound no louder than the gentle breeze coming through the open window.

"I've not even officially taken the seat, but I've already been judged by every person out there." It wasn't a new concept, it had just never happened to him on such a scale. "Some people measure the worth of other people by what they've accomplished. I wonder, to those people, whether or not I've accomplished enough."

"The only people who would so judge are fools," Riza responded, her tone a bit harder. "The value of a person lies in what they've tried to accomplish, not the accomplishment itself. Whether or not they attain their goal, the fact that they wholeheartedly gave their everything . . ." She trailed off thoughtfully.

"You believe the path a person takes to their goal defines them."

"I do." She uncharacteristically smiled. "For better or worse."

Mustang was silent a moment, watching the curtains shift slightly as spring wormed through the hard, dark fabric.

"That's too bad," he finally responded. "Maybe I took a good path, but my goal is anything but laudable."

"You're not going to issue that order," she stated flatly.

He gave her a sidelong glance, and she half-glared.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you do. And your collar is crooked."

He remained still as the colonel reached up, straightening the dress shirt beneath his oddly stiff jacket. Her fingers were warm and sure against his throat, and for the first time in a long time, he had to resist catching them.

She really hadn't been that close since he'd been injured.

"Any fool can aim for the heavens, even sincerely. Would you give value to stupidity?"

Her eyes were fixed on his collar, and by the tiny bunch of skin between her eyes, she disapproved. "I thought Fuery said the alterations were correct," she muttered. "It's digging into your skin –"

"I think it's supposed to. It's based on the current Parliament design, and might explain their sour expressions and less than agile minds."

She glanced up at him, trying to bend the heavily starched collar away a bit. "Courage and stupidity are easily mistaken for one another. Only a man that dreams can reach the heavens."

Hawkeye gave his jacket a good hard yank, and he was surprised that it was significantly more comfortable when she was done. "Besides, I don't think she's going to hold it against him," she continued, in a quieter voice. "Though if he doesn't stop treating her like a tagalong, it's only a matter of time before she loses her patience."

Roy just stared at her. Somehow, this conversation had spun out of his control, and he wasn't even sure when it had happened. And when had she started referring to herself in third person . . ?

Riza blinked at him, apparently taken aback by his expression. "She came to Central with him," she explained slowly. "You probably weren't made aware, but the three of them showed up on the early train. They're both using the automail as their excuse, but . . ." She trailed off.

Automail. Why was she talking about automail -

"We are talking about Edward Elric, aren't we?"

Mustang found himself fighting to keep his expression blank. The her was Winry Rockbell, then.

She'd come to Central for the inauguration?

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "I just found it surprising, that's all."

Riza just nodded, as though she'd expected that response. "He seems much better."

Roy turned away from the window, letting his expression falter back into one of seriousness as he pocketed his speech. "I wasn't sure he was going to recover so quickly." Even after Edward had discovered the main ingredient of the Philosopher's Stone, even when they'd found him dejected and drenched on the HQ stairs all those years ago, he hadn't been like . . . like he'd been in the hospital those few weeks ago.

All he'd said was that he'd done something stupid, and lost his automail along with his temper. It hadn't answered the question, but he'd offered nothing further, and Roy hadn't pressed it. He'd seen that haunted look before, too many times.

He'd just never seen it on such a young face. Not since his own.

And all Edward had done thereafter was shake beneath the blanket and stare at the far wall, for two and a half hours, while they waited for Alphonse to return.

"Their debriefings went well, and they're currently attending the Alchemists' reception," she informed him. The soft voice was gone, and the head of his security detail was back as though she'd never left.

"And Miss Rockbell?"

"She's actually going to be staying in one of their suites, and First Lieutenant Ross has reserved her a seat near the Alchemists' benches. Incidentally, she indicated the Elrics didn't react positively to the news concerning their research notes."

He chuckled softly. "I didn't schedule that battle for another several hours."

"Only two, sir. It's time to start."

He took a deep breath, casting a last look over the office before nodding. She turned on her heels and proceeded from the room, and this time he followed her, watching the back of her head as she scanned the hallways and corridors.

It had been decided that he shouldn't wear his ignition gloves at the acceptance speech, as it would lend too much of a military air to the proceedings. As such, he was in the care of his security detail until the completion of the days' ceremonies.

But care was relative.

As they proceeded out onto the balcony that led to the speaking platform, he couldn't help but brush his trouser pockets with his hands, just to make sure the cloth was still there, tucked away neatly and ready at a moment's notice. It wasn't that he didn't trust Hawkeye and Havoc to have swept the grounds; on the contrary, the problem was that they were too good at their jobs.

If anyone had to take a life today, in front of the country, it was going to be him. It was time to set everyone's expectations, instead of meeting them.

- x -

This had to have been the worst idea ever.

Winry Rockbell closed her eyes and groaned aloud. Neither mattered; the solid wall of people in front of her wasn't moving, and they were making so much noise she couldn't even hear her voice inside her own head. The only reason she could be sure it was audible was because she could feel the vibrations in her throat.

Intellectually, she knew Maria had pulled her away to save her the difficulty of waiting for the brothers to get out of their 'interviews.' And she knew they were probably being asked some very difficult questions. She'd asked them the same ones, after all, and their answers had terrified her to the point that she was glad they'd stopped where they had.

She didn't want to know what Ed and Al remembered about . . . Stuttgart. Not anymore. Whatever it was, it was so awful she just couldn't stand it. And what she saw, happening in her head as they described everything they'd been through . . . the idea that it had been worse than she was picturing it –

She opened her eyes, surprised to see that the solid mass of people was moving again. She was pretty sure she was in the right line – the lawns had been roped off, and there were pieces of paper bearing the numbers on a post along every row of chairs. The rows seemed never-ending, and made up more than two hundred seats at a pass, but there was an aisle every thirty or so.

And lucky her, she was within the first thousand.

Winry moved along at the snail's pace, missing the familiar weight of her bags. She'd had to leave even her clutch in Hawkeye's offices, because of course she had a few small calibrating tools and she had been advised they'd be taken in a search of her person if she was flagged as 'questionable.' Of course, she'd been waved through the security checkpoint without more than the standard leer, but as she wasn't carrying anything at all . . .

The problem was that she didn't have anything to hang onto but the hem of her skirt. And if she hung onto _that_, she was going to give everyone in a two-hundred-seat radius quite a show.

She hated it when her hands were empty. With nothing in them, nothing to do, nothing to fix –

Well, she'd had years to realize and accept that automail was her way of coping with her parents' death. And it helped with the waiting, too. Work was her crutch, and it had the added benefit of paying well.

Winry groaned again, noting her number was on the column two rows ahead of her.

Work.

Sure, Granny Pinako could handle it for a few days, but not forever. They had too many customers, now, and David was going to be upset that she wasn't there to personally make the suspension adjustments for his shoulder –

And he wasn't the only customer sweet on her.

What was she even doing here? What had possessed her to take that jerk's invitation – if it could even be _called_ an invitation? Who the hell was she kidding? They were State Alchemists! It wasn't as though she could just move Granny Pinako to Central and set up shop.

The woman would never agree to it, for one. For another, why uproot her whole life?

Then again, wasn't it uprooted already?

They were back, and at least for a year, Ed was going to have to fake it with that armor. She had half a mind to talk him into keeping it, and she really wasn't sure if that was because she was certain he'd get killed without it, or because she knew, sooner or later, he'd have to come back to her.

Even if she was never certain whether he was coming back for her, or for automail.

Maybe that's why it was so safe that way.

Winry growled at herself, glad that none of her grumblings could be heard. She was too used to being locked in a room with a drill press and some metal, where she could mumble to herself all she liked.

They weren't kids anymore, damn it! What was her problem?

Ed and Al had been a constant in her life when she'd had nothing else. Her parents had died and the only distraction from her grandmother's sadness had been the two young blonde boys who lived up on the hill. Then she'd felt as badly for them as they'd felt for her. They knew what it was to lose their parents. They understood.

But they'd moved so very far away. When she saw them, she acted happy, told herself she was happy. They chose a different work, a different distraction. They tried to actually get their mother back, and then . . . then they were too busy trying to find themselves again. They tried so hard they just kept losing, over and over again.

They burned their home. They made it clear that they weren't ever coming back.

They _died._

And yet here they were.

All three of them. Standing in Central.

The line edged forward, and she couldn't have been happier to embark on the journey down the row to her seat. She walked quickly, further and further to the left of the main podium. That was fine with her, having an exterior seat. All the better to sit farther from that . . . that . . .

She couldn't do this.

God, she was an idiot.

Winry glanced around at the rows and rows of orderly, bright white chairs, the green banners flying the Amestrian flag, the building-wide platform with its empty wooden chairs and large oak podium. The seats behind her were dotted with early arrivals, children, balloons. There was an old couple sitting about a dozen seats ahead, and she glanced down at the slip of paper clutched in her hand.

Seven hundred and fifty-two.

She'd already walked past her seat.

And that was fine. She'd just keep walking. It wasn't like they'd pick her out of this sea of faces, no matter where they would sit for the inauguration. No matter how she hurried, she'd never make it through traffic back to the station, she'd never make the last train back to Resembool. She'd have to stay the night, but Al was right. Ed would bury himself in the library, and she'd have a suite to herself.

Just one night. She could handle that.

It was a pity she couldn't burn down Central when she left.

"Where's the fire?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, wondering for an instant if she'd been talking to herself the entire time. Then she glanced back at the makeshift platform, just in time to see a flash of red as the speaker leapt lightly off the edge.

There were three rows of chairs between them, but the aisle was just ten chairs over, and to her chagrin he moved towards the aisle in front of her rather than behind. Cutting off escape, her mind noted. But that was ridiculous. He had no idea she was upset.

He wasn't smart enough for that. He'd just seen her hurrying, that's all.

Winry remained still, letting him head down the aisle towards her. She expected him to look at the ticket in her hand, but instead, he just threw himself into a chair at random, stretching out his legs comfortably. When he casually tossed his arms over the backs of the two chairs beside him and let his head fall back., she realized he was settling himself in for a long stay. Winry swallowed her sigh and sat down gingerly beside him, careful not to lean on the arm draped over the chairback.

"How was the reception?" He probably didn't want to talk about the interview, but since he was here and not there –

He gestured vaguely with his armored hand, which happened to be behind her. "Booze. Food. Questions." His eyes were closed, and his face was turned up towards the sun, as if he needed the warmth. "Al decided to stick with the party line, and they got past the part I knew, so I bailed."

Winry just nodded, using the opportunity of being seated to wrap her fingers around the hem of her skirt. It came nearly down to her knees when she sat, so it wasn't as inappropriate as it might have been. She was glad his eyes were closed. He couldn't see what was right in front of his face, and if she could just hold it together a little while longer -

"Well, it's a long story," she said, when he didn't seem to feel the need to continue talking.

He frowned. "Something's going on with him," he said slowly.

"Al?" Was Ed really that blind? "He's probably just getting used to everything being different for him now." For once, the brothers were on equal footing. Surely Ed wasn't jealous of the attention Al was getting?

. . . he probably was.

Ed's frown deepened. "This isn't how Al gets used to things being different. I learned that in Germany." He opened his eyes slowly, narrowing them as he adjusted to the bright sunlight. "He's definitely up to something."

She couldn't think of anything to say, but her mouth was long used to autopilot from hours of working on limbs attached to men with their teeth ground shut against the pain. "Then why did you leave him alone?"

His gaze shifted to her without blinking, and she realized that she'd been wrong. He'd never really taken his attention off her, and he'd never really relaxed.

"You're up to something too," he informed her. "Currently he's surrounded by a pack of hungry alchemists. He's not going anywhere."

Insinuating that she was.

That he knew she was.

Winry glanced away, staring at her skirt hem. If she wasn't careful, she was going to rip it, and now she didn't even have a needle and thread. She'd have to go all the way back into the building to get it, when she really just wanted –

Well, that was the question, wasn't it.

"Why'd you come?"

She didn't look at him again. "You told me to, moron. Don't you remember your little lapse in judgment this morning?"

He was quiet a moment. "You could have said no."

No, she couldn't. Not when he'd made the gesture.

But that was all it was. A gesture.

There was a time that was all she wanted. But now, hours later, the pleasant surprise had worn off, and left her with the reality of the fact that she was sitting in Central, alone, with ten thousand people she didn't know.

They were surrounded by people, in a veritable sea of them, and she felt completely isolated.

And she wanted to be. She wanted to be alone so much it ached.

"I thought maybe you wanted to talk. About all this."

Winry closed her eyes, and concentrated on her fingertips, counting each separate stitch as her hand trailed over them.

"Pop never apologized, either. Not really." Ed's voice was that curious hollow one again. He'd never had that voice before, not till three weeks ago. She hated it. "But he died to send me back here. A couple years ago," he clarified. "I told him not to, but he never listened to me anyway."

She couldn't help a little smile, despite the sad news. "Kids are supposed to listen to their parents." Another piece of information to add to the list. Ed carried that guilt around with him as well. Now he could blame himself for both his parents' deaths.

Lucky him.

"Can't if they're not here anymore."

She swallowed back her retort. He wasn't purposefully being hurtful. He didn't know what was on her mind, he was just babbling.

It had been easier with Al. At least she could say the words to him. Let me go.

Not that he _had_ . . .

"Do you hate him?"

She heard a few voices approaching out of the general din, and looked up to see three people moving towards them from the aisle. She moved her knees to the side, to give them more room to pass.

Ed didn't so much as twitch. Nor did he glare at them; he simply ignored them. After a moment, they seemed to get the hint, and moved back to walk around in another aisle.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she glared at him. "That was rude."

The look he gave her was almost equally angry. "It was, wasn't it?"

Winry stared at him, the hem of her skirt forgotten. "What's the matter with you?"

His face was stony. "You are." After a few seconds of silence, he seemed to realize that he needed to elaborate. "You told us to include you. We did. I told you everything you asked. Only then, you decided you didn't want to know anymore. You want to come, but once you're here you're either all fake smiles or –" He cut off with a shake of his head. "You didn't used to wait until people were out of the way to point out when I was being obnoxious."

Winry just stared at him. "Oh, so I've learned tact in the last six years and you think that's a _problem_?"

Ed threw his head back with an audible thump. When next he spoke, his voice wasn't the cool arrogance she'd braced against.

"What do you want from me, Winry?"

His tone was too much like back at the hospital. He was tense; she could see it in the armor even if no one else could, the way it was sitting on his shoulder. But he was always tense in it; he hiked up his shoulder and that limited his movement a little bit. Just having it there bothered him, even though it didn't really hurt.

She turned back to her skirt hem, though he was back to staring at the sun.

She hadn't answered him in the hospital. But then again, back then he'd been heaping guilt and blame onto himself. Blame for involving her again, for almost killing himself, Al, and the Tringums. For putting Mustang in that position. For imposing on them.

That pissed her off more than anything.

But didn't he have the right to think it? Given how she'd reacted when he'd finally actually told her all the things she'd always thought she wanted to know?

I want you to say goodbye, and leave.

If she said it, he would. He would stay where he was a moment, coolly, as though she hadn't said something horrible, and then he'd find an excuse to have to return to the reception to get ready for whatever part the State Alchemists had to play in this farce, and he'd jam his hands in his pockets, and he'd say it. And then he would walk away.

She'd finally get her goodbye. And even if he wrecked the armor the next day, she'd never see him again.

Was there anything else she could ask for that he could actually give to her?

What did she want from him? She wanted him to stop _dying_ That was pretty high up on the list. She wanted him to stop getting into fights, getting beat up, getting shot. She wanted him away from the people and places that reminded him about all the horrible things he'd seen. She wanted him to forget his mistakes. She wanted him to forgive himself.

He couldn't give her any of those things.

Winry squeezed her eyes shut, then gave up and leaned back in her seat, resting her head on his armor. It wasn't like he could get any more tense, after all, and while the armor was hard, it was nicely curved to fit the back of her neck. She'd gotten used to falling asleep on automail a decade ago, working late too many nights.

He had frozen pretty solid by the time she'd gotten settled in, and she let him get used to the weight, staring at the bright light shining through her eyelids.

"I want you to tell me the rest of it."

Ed was silent for so long she was afraid he wasn't going to say anything at all. "Not right this moment in time," she clarified. "I know you've probably just relieved it all a dozen times. But, sometime, if you want to. When you're ready."

"You don't want to hear it." He did a good job of draining any emotion out of his voice completely.

God, she _hated_ these new inflections of his. "If you're going to say something like that then don't talk."

"Then you stop saying things you think other people want to hear. Make up your own mind."

She pressed her lips together forcefully against the words she wanted to snap. She should have just told him she wanted him gone. There'd be no more fighting, he had enough to worry about right now and she just –

"I don't want to fight."

"I didn't come over here to fight."

She supposed that was true. He'd said he came over to see if she wanted to talk.

About Mustang.

But maybe not. Maybe just to talk.

"Ed . . ." She couldn't say those things to him. It would be awful of her.

"You have a life in Resembool. A client base. You have a business and responsibilities that –"

"Are my responsibilities," she cut him off. "I have the capability of prioritizing my own work, thanks."

Beside her, she heard him take a slow breath. But she didn't look at him. People would see them, sharing each other's company, enjoying the beautiful, warm spring day. She liked imagining what they looked like, what they appeared to be, better than what they really were.

"You're not going to settle down, are you."

Ed shifted slightly beside her. "You mean in Central, or generally?"

"Anywhere." It wouldn't matter what city, really, if she could be certain that letters she wrote were actually getting to the person they were intended for. If she could get on a train and expect to see the same face at the same station. The same intact face.

"I don't know." For once, his tone was . . . something. Weary. "I can't retire from being a State Alchemist. Now more than ever."

"You can't keep going the way you have. You're going to get killed."

She heard his hair grinding softly against the wooden back of the chair. He was looking at her.

"I'm not going to get killed."

She shook her head gently against the armor. "I can't wait anymore, Ed. I . . . I won't."

His response was slow in coming, but he wasn't withdrawing his arm. "I know."

"And you can't keep taking responsibility for that." She rolled her head to her left and opened her eyes, surprised he was still looking at her. "It was my choice to wait, Ed. And it's my choice to stop."

God, he really wasn't the same boy, was he. He'd gotten so good at hiding things, she couldn't even see a glimmer of what he was feeling. What he was thinking.

He really wasn't the same.

And neither was she.

"I can't just pick up shop, Ed. You're going to have to learn how to stay still more often."

He blinked at her.

"I figure in the beginning, the best I can expect are brief pauses," she relented. "And no phone calls. It's like you're allergic to the thing. But there's going to have to be effort involved."

He picked up his head to look at her. "Winry-"

"We're going to have to have a proper friendship." Nothing else would do. She couldn't get rid of him completely. Just like he and Al were two of the first pillars in her life, she knew she was one of his. And just like she'd been left behind, she couldn't turn around and leave him in the same position.

Not after everything else he'd been through.

"More than just your tune-ups. Letters. Some expectation that I can arrive somewhere and find you without searching the entire country."

He withdrew his arm, and she picked up her head, sitting straighter in the seat. He turned so that he was facing her, and she drew back slightly when his expression wasn't what she hoped for.

"I can't make that promise." His eyes shifted, like he was looking for the words. "I don't know where I'm going from here-"

She shrugged. "Then you don't know you can't. It's this or goodbye, Edward."

That got his attention.

She offered him a small smile, guiltily pleased that he looked slightly stricken. "And please don't say goodbye. I don't think I could get through today if you did that."

He stared at her for such a long time that she finally turned away, noting the vast number of seats that had gotten filled since their conversation began.

She hadn't even noticed. It had been like they were alone.

At least if he said goodbye, it was his choice, because of demands she'd put on him, and not because of some desire to protect her. At least he could tell himself that.

And at least, in some small way, it was a resolution.

They weren't the same people they'd been as kids. He was both harder and more fragile than he'd been, like metal heated too long, so that he'd become brittle. And she wasn't the same smiling girl. She did have a life. She did have responsibilities that she'd chosen, no matter how she looked at it.

It was ridiculous to think anything could be like it was before. They'd have to figure out if they even had anything in common anymore besides apple pie and Granny Pinako.

She and Al had already come to their own agreement. It was time to stop thinking of them as a single entity.

It was time for them to stop thinking that way, too.

"You have to go," she told him quietly. "Your presence is probably required somewhere."

He paused another moment before standing rather stiffly, and she didn't raise her eyes to his face, staring instead somewhere in the vicinity of his right hip. He had to make up his own mind, and she wasn't as good at hiding her emotions as he was.

So she was completely taken off-guard when he reached down and pulled her up, so that she was standing right next to him.

"I think my presence is required right here," he said, in an oddly low voice. "But you can't come out on stage with the alchemists. And you won't wait, so . . ."

She stared at him, baffled for a moment, and then she socked him in his flesh shoulder. "You know what I meant."

He flashed her a tiny little grin, and then, even more shockingly, he put his arms loosely around her shoulders.

"I'm glad you're here."

She hugged him back, wrapping her arms inside his red overcoat. "Me too."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Okay. My current goal is now less than twenty chapters. I'm going to stop estimating. I went back and looked at my estimates in my previous notes, and it's laughable. I am incapable of doing anything with brevity.

And I know I promised no pairings, but we did have to resolve a few relationships. Which we didn't really do with Riza, other than her flatly telling Roy that she thought he was worth it all along. And we didn't really do with Winry and Ed either, because they're adults now, and they really don't know each other anymore. I think supporting a nice, steady friendship is totally believable. If they want something more, well, they're adults. They can handle it themselves outside of the scope of this oneshot. ; )

And, a special announcement! Every large fic I write, there's usually some lunatic who just goes above and beyond sanity to help me with a fic, to leave egoboos, to encourage and enjoy and above all, someone who lets me know these things. This fic, that is absolutely silverfox2702. I choose to recognize these wonderful, wonderful readers by giving them a fanfiction by request, just for them. Any fandom I can write, any characters, any situation. So get thinking, silverfox, and let me know what you'd like in your present. And thank you. ; )


	18. Chapter 18

**NOTE:** This chapter was published on the same day as **Chapter 19**, but an automagic email was not sent out at that time. This is the last chapter of the fic. Chapter 19 is explained in the Author's Notes.

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Special Plugs Time!**

In case you missed them last chapter, silverfox2702 has created some wonderful art to accompany this fic, including Mustang, Riza, Ed, zeppelins (zeppelins! How cool is that?!) and Gateroses! Since I'm not smart enough to link here, hit triple w dot photobucket dot com and search jayamitai. You'll find an album with the art inside! Then, drop silverfox2702 a message to share the niftiness!

And because it got a very positive reception, and because I'm good at guilting people, inkydoo has turned her oneshot _**Between the Panels**_ into a collection! Go check it out, and be sure to tell her I made you do it. (And try not to be consuming food or beverage when you read the second one. Little Edward will make you snarf your drink.)

- x -

He didn't look nervous at all.

In fact, if she hadn't touched him, she would have treated it like just another fund raiser, or banquet, or any of the other dozens of political functions he'd attended since being reinstated. If she hadn't touched him, she would have taken the quiet moment in his office to relax herself.

This really wasn't much different than any other speech, after all. All he had to do was accept the seat, say something reassuring to the people, and take off. She was reasonably sure that whoever wanted to kill him wouldn't stop after it, either. It would certainly be more shocking if he was murdered in front of the country on the day he took office, but killing him today or tomorrow didn't make that much difference in the grand scheme of things.

If someone managed to assassinate him, it would be pandemonium regardless of the exacts of when and where.

And he was somewhat used to people trying to kill him. So clearly that wasn't what was bugging him.

It was only a ceremony, but to him, it was the end of a journey that began a very long time ago, in a pool of blood. Now his goals had to be the goals of others, rather than the single-minded quest for his own advancement.

Maybe he was afraid he wouldn't hear them.

Clearly he was afraid he wasn't up for the task.

And Riza really wasn't sure throwing platitudes at him like she had was particularly helpful. It was hard to sidestep him when he asked such blunt questions.

This was one of those things she was going to have to let him do on his own.

She hadn't even read the speech.

Of course, that hardly mattered either. He hadn't written a one of the ones he'd read, and she was sure the same scriptwriter that prepared his other speeches had been called in to write this one. Parliament was bent on portraying him as something other than a glorified replacement of their previous military state system. Doubtlessly the speech told of how the people's government had changed, and in these times strong leaders needed to be chosen to guide the country to peace.

She doubted it would be any different than the speech they'd have written if they'd chosen Hakuro. Mustang was Prime Minister, but unlike the Fuhrer, he was going to have to play nice with Parliament, at least until they learned to trust him. They were lucky the House was still filled with earnest, well-meaning men, who were unlikely to oppose him for the sake of opposing. If they worked any more inefficiently than they already did, he would probably bring his gloves to work one day and that would be that.

He wasn't above bullying them, and she was certain they knew it. They had already balked at giving him complete control of the National Alchemists, and he could only control the military for forty-five days before they could overrule any military operation. Enough time for him to act to protect their borders, but not long enough for him to launch any serious aggressive action against their neighbors.

She was also pretty sure that was for their neighbors' sakes, not because they were afraid Roy was going to go on a border-expansion campaign.

Riza sharpened her gaze, making eye contact with every soldier they passed, confirming she personally recognized them. She still wasn't sure the assassins were Drachmans, and she was absolutely certain Hakuro wasn't behind it. He'd probably be on stage already, seated and waiting for the various members of the House to give their introduction speeches, their unilateral support.

He'd visited Mustang earlier that morning. She had no idea what they'd discussed.

She hoped it didn't involve a resignation. As much as he was a pain in the ass, he was a seasoned general, and they needed all the help they could get. If any of their neighbors began to cooperate, Amestris was in serious trouble indeed.

She came to a stop in the wide marble entrance to HQ, waiting for a head nod from the chief of communications to signal it was time for the Prime Minister to appear. Behind her, she could hear men mumbling their congratulations, and Mustang's soft answers. He'd almost been a politician half as long as he'd been a soldier, now.

She smiled to herself. Even if he lapsed a bit too far into their world from time to time, she had no doubt he'd not forgotten his standing order to her. To shoot him if he ever strayed. She supposed some notification of strayage was implicit, but she was pretty sure it was never going to be an issue.

Between Breda, Havoc, and the Elrics, there was no chance someone wouldn't clue him in.

A nod brought her out of her revere, and she stepped to the side with a quick salute. He didn't return it; he was now officially no longer a member of the military, for obvious reasons. He'd likely be reinstated at the end of his term if he wasn't re-elected, but from this moment on, he was the Prime Minister.

He just nodded to her, once, with that odd little smile on his face, and he strode out onto the platform.

Hawkeye stared after him a moment, then brought her eyes up to the grand branches of HQ, specifically the second turret on the right, well above the crowd. She didn't see him, but she knew he was watching, and she frowned slightly.

Mustang was up to something. Better to let Havoc know now.

The ovation was deafening; it shook the building. She stepped in line to join his party out of the doors, walking onto the platform to take her place near the back of the stage. As head of his security detail, she technically had a Parliamentary position, so despite her relatively low military title she had every right to remain on stage with the much more prestigious officers.

The position also gave her an excellent vantage from which to take out any threats that might actually be on the platform with them.

It took a while for the crowd to settle down, and he waited patiently. When the very last of the chatter died down, she clearly heard someone in the crowd shout the word 'fuehrer.'

She watched Mustang lean towards the microphone, and noted he hadn't taken his speech out of his pocket.

He hadn't intended to from the start.

"You're the second person today to say that," he responded to the speaker, and his amplified voice rang throughout the parade grounds. She saw him reach up with his left hand, and she realized he was adjusting his eyepatch. "I don't see the resemblance, myself."

His time with the politicians had taught him how to handle civilians deftly. After all, he couldn't very well call the man out. Any other response would only prove the civilian's point.

The crowd tittered, then settled down, and the catcaller didn't respond.

"But the young man brings up a good point," he continued. "Many of you have voiced concerns that this country is heading right back where it was six years ago. Entrenched in war. A military state with a puppet Parliament. Before I address that, I have something more important to discuss."

He gazed out over the crowd, pausing only a moment. "Two months ago today, Elysia Hughes turned ten years old."

This announcement was greeted with silence.

The seconds stretched on, but he said nothing else.

From somewhere near the front, in the vicinity of the military benches, a single clap rang out. It was followed by another, and within seconds she could see that the soldiers in the audience were joining the applause. It wasn't quite on par with the combined efforts of every civilian in Central, but it was much more enthusiastic, and when it finally died down, she saw Mustang take a deep breath.

"For those who have not served, Elysia and her mother Gracia are the family of the late Brigadier General Maes Hughes."

Hawkeye dimly heard a few shouts, but couldn't make out the words.

"Maes was a very good friend of mine. He died seven years ago, protecting his country and his family." Roy's voice was strong and sure. "He took it upon himself daily, if not more frequently, to remind us of them. I do not believe there is a single man or woman present in uniform that missed watching Maes Hughes' daughter grow up. And not for lack of trying," he added dryly.

There was some polite laughter, and more shouts. Probably from the enlisted.

"The late Brigadier General was also the man that taught all of us two very important things. The first was that the day to day struggles of having a family, and raising a child, were of the utmost priority. They took precedence over meetings, over paperwork, over battlefields."

Mustang paused, and she saw him shake his head before he spoke again. "The second was to always keep multiple copies of pictures of your child in your wallet, because new soldiers enlist every day."

That got a much more sincere response from the civilians, and Riza found herself smiling, a little sadly.

"Many of my critics have pointed out that I have not taken a wife, and I do not have a family of my own. They use this as evidence that I am too single-mindedly interested in military affairs, and will neglect domestic issues.

"I believe the response of your military today has proven, beyond mere words, that we have not forgotten why we wear these uniforms."

Tumultuous applause erupted at his words, and she relaxed slightly, taking her attention off the Prime Minister and unobtrusively continuing her observations of the people on the platform.

Mustang had successfully won the people. It didn't matter what he said now.

He had just bought some trust.

"But the reality of this great military, at least in this age, is that it is necessary." His tone was more serious. "Your Parliament placed me before you today because you have recognized the need for strong leadership. For better or worse, this young nation began in bloodshed. There were few opportunities for anyone outside of the Fuhrer himself to gain any greater understanding of the responsibilities of running a country."

Roy half-turned, indicating the neat rows of black-suited men and women behind him. "This Parliament has done an admirable job of taking on those responsibilities. Let them be recognized."

Most of the seated officials were just staring at Mustang, obviously surprised, but tried to take it in stride as the crowd demonstrated its appreciation.

"It is not in the heart of a military man to compromise with his enemy. Wars are fought for land, for resources, for pride, and there are no balances. The winner does not concede anything in a war.

"But we're not at war anymore. We have treaties and political ties to all our neighbors at this time, and you've voiced your desire to remain at peace."

Mustang indicated the House again with a wave of his arm. "These men and women have done well to broker and negotiate this peace. And as of today, I join their ranks, not as a Major General but as your representative."

Oddly, the crowd broke into a light applause.

"It is no secret that our current diplomatic ties with many of our neighbors are strained. A great deal of damage was done on both sides in the last fifty years of our history, and that damage is not going to disappear because we want it to." He paused to let that sink in.

"As of now, I am no longer a military man. What debts this country can settle with compromise, we will."

Riza kept her expression blank with effort. That was a very dangerous promise indeed.

"We will deal in the currencies of land, of gold, and of resources. We will issue apologies where they are due." This time he didn't give the murmuring crowd time to respond.

"But should these currencies be unacceptable to our neighbors, should they demand lives . . . they're not going to have them." He didn't raise his voice. He merely stated it as fact. "That is why your Parliament placed me in front of you today. Amestris does not want to return to a military dictatorship, and I have no interest in leading one.

"However, we cannot ignore or shrug off the consequences of our government's previous actions. The Parliament's tolerance of political aggression will continue, but any military aggression will be met with the will of an army that is united, through all their differences, by a desire to protect Elysia Hughes and her mother."

This time, the cheering continued for some time, and Riza sharpened her attention as the House took its feet to give him a standing ovation.

For his part, Mustang looked at home on the podium. He inclined his head, as he'd learned to do in the last four years of crowd-wrangling, and remained relatively still until the House Speaker came up to shake his hand and present him with a crest.

She'd assigned a corporal to keep an eye on the Speaker, and she actually knew him personally. He was no threat. Once the ceremonial pinning was done, the House slowly took their seats, and she saw no readily visible weapons.

Havoc had a slightly better angle on the House; if anyone had pulled or shown a weapon during the ovation and pinning, she had no doubt they would have been dropped. She was fairly sure she didn't need to look, but she switched her attention to the opposite side of the platform, and gave the National Alchemists a once-over

Armstrong and the Elrics would be on guard without her request, and she had no doubt the three of them could handle an alchemic threat better than any sharpshooter. Many of the State Alchemists appeared pleased, but the majority looked bored.

Of course, they'd known Mustang longer than the public did. He'd been an accomplished alchemist long before he'd even taken the exam.

The Prime Minister took his seat behind the podium as the Speaker went on to reiterate that no serious changes in current policy were being affected, and the Parliament was in unilateral support of the new Prime Minister and his stated policy of compromise before force. She tuned him out, having heard it before. It was no time before the ceremony was ended with a fanfare of brass, and she took her feet, waiting at attention for the Speaker and the Prime Minister to pass.

One battle down, one to go.

- x -

It was a ballroom.

Obviously it was going to be used as a large audience chamber, but even so, the space was enormous, and could easily have accommodated ten times the number of people filing in. Huge crystal chandeliers lit the great rectangular room, burning brightly and solidly illuminating the rich murals and cloth tapestries that covered the walls. The chair-rail and everything below was a marbled white, and suits of armor – not Thule, he noted – lined the wall at even intervals.

He hadn't been in a ballroom since the New Year's Eve party in the palace in Stuttgart. It had been nearly this large, and even the architecture of the space was similar.

It was sad, to think that Amestris was equivalent to that world's Germany. It had more in common with Berlin than it did with London, which was a truly pitiable thing.

London had been really neat.

"What's with the serious look?"

Al glanced over at his brother, a little surprised that he'd spoken. He'd been silent throughout the walk from the inauguration platform to the audience chamber, and Al had figured he was thinking along the same lines. Mustang had given a good speech, but he'd promised two things that seemed unlikely.

He'd promised to compromise with his neighbors, when he personally had accepted nothing but his own goals for possibly as long as he'd been alive. Then again, he was an alchemist, so the idea of equivalent exchange wasn't foreign. It was simply a question of whether he could afford to make those kinds of exchanges.

It was a question that lead directly to his second rash statement, a promise to protect Amestris. If even two of their neighboring countries became serious about marching on Central, or East . . . perhaps that was why the State Alchemists had been called to a special meeting immediately proceeding the inauguration.

Not that he thought Mustang would ever dare to put the National Alchemists on the front lines. He wouldn't send Ed to war. It didn't matter that four years had gone by since Al had really talked to the man. He trusted it in his gut.

This meeting was about something else. And the fact that the room was so large, and relatively secluded on the back of the main HQ campus, was a problem.

Al quickly wiped the brooding frown off his face and grinned at his brother. "I could ask you the same. Did you go talk to Winry?"

Rather than blush, which he'd rather expected, Ed continued to pin him with his eyes. "Don't change the subject."

He let his smile broaden. "I'm glad, brother," he replied, and he meant it. They'd both put on a magnificent show on the train, but asking Winry to come with them for a day to Central was not the same as trying to reconstruct a relationship with her. Their customer/mechanic relationship had been fraying before nii-san had been transmuted beyond the Gate the first time, and after his second disappearance . . .

Ed dropped his gaze for a second, and Al relented. Obviously they'd talked, and obviously the conversation had taken a pleasant turn. That was all he really needed to know.

"Al-"

"I'm sorry to trouble you again, but . . . there's something I'm not quite clear on."

Al glanced over his shoulder at the speaker, never happier to be interrupted. They were no longer at the reception, and he didn't have the crutch of name placards at every plate, but he recognized the alchemist as one that had been seated at the table with them. He was of medium height, with short-cropped, curly red hair and sharp green eyes, and his nose was rather large and bulbous.

"Ah . . . Franklin, wasn't it?"

The young man smiled and nodded, coming to stand beside the Elrics. "Yep. We actually met when we were boys, but I doubt you remember. In Lior, about four and a half years ago."

Al thought back, then shook his head politely. "I'm afraid I don't. Actually . . . were you one of the children Rose was looking after?" It seemed to him there had been a redhead running around the plaza giving Rose quite a headache, but if he had been one of her charges, it hadn't been for long . . .

That would make him a young State Alchemist indeed. He was only fifteen or sixteen at most.

The redhead grinned, and Al noted that his brother had finally glanced over at Franklin, eyeing him up and down before feigning disinterest in the conversation and turning his attention to the main doors.

"I used to play with them," the alchemist laughed, refocusing Al's attention. "My parents owned a donut shop just north of the main square."

Al smiled. That explained only the passing memory. "Honey glazed, if I recall."

The redhead nodded again. "Back at the reception, didn't you say that the Crimson Alchemist destroyed Scar's left arm?"

Ed's attention snapped back to them, and Al inclined his head. "Scar deconstructed it off his own body to prevent it from exploding." And thus performed human transmutation, the most taboo of all Grand Arcanum for the Ishbals, just prior to meeting his god Ishbala.

He still had mixed feelings about the warrior priest, but there was no doubt, at his core, Scar had been a good man, and a good brother. But he'd killed so many . . .

"And he transmuted the materials of his other arm into your armor body to reverse the effects of Kimblee's explosive transmutation."

He noticed Edward's head tilt ever so slightly, and he held back his smirk with effort. They'd hurriedly agreed on what to keep to themselves, but hadn't had time to get specific about the details before they'd been ushered into the reception, where they'd instantly been surrounded. Ed had slunk off before he'd gotten very far into the story, and so he'd had to improvise.

As far as he was concerned, it was up to Ed to figure out where he'd 'found' a Philosopher's Stone. They'd agreed that they would admit it had restored Al's body, but also agreed to fib a bit on the details.

Only it looked like someone was about to call them on it.

Finally.

"Once he'd decomposed his own arm, he'd realized how Kimblee was beginning the reactions," Al said quietly. "And thus he learned how to stop it." It wasn't as farfetched as it sounded, actually; if Scar had been more knowledgeable about alchemy, he might have been able to simply rearrange the armor without transmuting the incomplete Philosopher's Stone into it in the first place.

Of course, that might have resulted in the erasing of the blood seal, but technically it should have disappeared when that part of his armor had turned to incendiary material. He'd probably unconsciously spent some of the incomplete Stone just to keep his soul tied to his body during its change.

Franklin nodded. "And all this happened prior to the army advancing into the city."

Al pursed his lips, noting a few interested glances were being thrown their way. He didn't remember seeing many soldiers during Scar's fight with the Crimson Alchemist. In fact, he really didn't really recall seeing very many soldiers at all before –

Before the transmutation circle was activated.

When Scar died.

When his armor became the Philosopher's Stone.

"But then . . ." The young man frowned. "If he didn't have arms, how did he throw Kimblee's body off the wall?"

Al blinked.

That was not the question he'd been expecting.

"You know, I've wondered that." Al glanced up to see his brother studying him, his expression slightly confused. "It was Scar, not Lust, that threw Kimblee's body in view of the army."

All things considered, that must have looked weird. "He kicked it," Al replied. "Down the street. I don't actually know how he got it up the stairs. Lust must have helped him."

"Because she wanted him to transmute the Stone," the redhead concluded. "Which means it was transmuted. That's where you found the Stone, isn't it. You took it from the Homunculus."

Ah, there it was.

It was a statement, not a question, but clearly it was posed more towards the Fullmetal Alchemist than him. Al was silent, and didn't look at his brother.

Ed didn't reply.

Franklin turned back to him, his expression less than accusatory, but something close. "I don't get it. If you're both admitting to human transmutation, and say that a Philosopher's Stone is created by killing thousands of people, why not just admit that you took the Stone created during the destruction of Lior?"

"Are you looking for a Philosopher's Stone?" Ed asked him suddenly.

Franklin stared at Al instead of at Ed, and his green eyes never wavered. "If I were, it would seem you two would be the best people to ask, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ed murmured. "I understand the Flame Alchemist became a veritable cesspool of knowledge on the subject."

Al couldn't help a sudden grin, and Franklin misinterpreted it to be poking fun of him.

"You two should know as well as I do that he isn't interested in helping anyone decipher that information," he growled. "And speaking of which, you shouldn't have entrusted your notes to him, Full Metal. Your travelogues make for interesting reading indeed."

Al glanced at his brother. Ed was looking over the teen again, this time a little more sharply. "We saw a lot of interesting things on our travels."

"I thought the most interesting thing was a sudden increase in the complexity of your coding immediately after finding the red water," he responded dryly. "I'm fairly confident you thereafter actually recorded the transmutation circle you used for the Stone."

Ed dropped his pleasant expression altogether, and he suddenly reminded Al of sensei so much it hurt. "Why do you need one so badly?"

The teen's eyes flickered for only a second. "I was just speaking hypothetically. I can't determine from your notes when you figured out the transmutation circle."

"You won't." Al was surprised when he heard his voice. "Most of the research on human transmutation circles was worked out by another alchemist, and those notes burned."

It was true. They didn't take Hohenheim's books with them when they burned the house. Of course, their father hadn't come up with the seven-cornered circle, either.

That information had come from nii-san's glimpse into the Gate.

And that was something they weren't going to tell Franklin. He had kept Gate explanations to the barest minimum, and most of the men at the table had rightly assumed it was something they didn't really want to see for themselves.

"They were in the First Library, then?"

That he had decoded enough of Ed's notes to realize there had been a section on red water was a little concerning, but then again, he was extremely young, and he was a State Alchemist. He was probably extraordinarily bright.

No wonder Ed had asked him why he needed a Stone.

"I burned them," Ed said shortly.

Franklin was about to say something more when the general level of conversation in the room dropped suddenly, and Al glanced to his left at motion near the door. Her back was to him, but there was no doubt it was Colonel Hawkeye.

Which meant Mustang wasn't far behind.

So the meeting was starting.

She scanned the room quickly, spending more time looking over the armor than she did the alchemists. But she made eye contact with each of them, including him. She didn't linger on any of them, which relaxed him slightly, and before she'd really finished checking the room to her liking, the familiar shape of the Prime Minister strode in.

The doors shut solidly behind him, and as the room came to a full silence Al clearly heard the deadbolts shoot home.

Not that locking a door would stop any of the alchemists in the room. That was clearly to give them their privacy.

It still unnerved him, and Al made a conscious effort to relax his hands at his sides.

The first thing Mustang did was unbutton his dark, stiff jacket, rolling his head in obvious relief. A few of the alchemists guffawed, and he gave them a dark look.

"I'd have complained, but I'm terrified of my seamstress."

That brought a round of laughs – the idea of the Flame Alchemist being afraid of a woman was laughable to them. Al couldn't help but glance at the colonel again, now standing at parade rest in front of the doors.

These alchemists just didn't know Roy Mustang very well at all.

Or maybe he didn't.

His time spent in conversation with Mustang had been extremely brief. After the Major General had nearly drowned Edward, he'd readily agreed to surrender his uniform to stop the bomb test and Al had taken off right then. When he'd returned, they'd been too concerned with getting Mustang out of the hospital and away from Ed. He still didn't know if they'd even spoken while he'd been absent, and he noted Ed was watching Mustang with a very strange look on his face.

Of course, he'd had a strange look on his face during the speech, but it had been a tiny little smile. He hadn't seen nii-san smile like that since Germany.

And that was why he was sure Ed had gone to talk to Winry.

But the look on his face now was serious, and a little calculating. Al honestly wasn't sure if Ed was still worrying over the now-silent redhead beside them, or he was just wary of what Mustang was going to ask them to do.

Once Mustang was a little more comfortable, and slightly less imposing, he addressed the room. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice." Of course, their notice had been given several weeks in advance of the actual results of Parliament's vote, which meant the other State Alchemists had only had two days to get the missive to appear here in Central and actually arrive. It explained why only sixty or so were present.

Or maybe that was all there were left.

"As most of you already know, Parliament has granted my request for full control of the State Alchemists. As of now, all of you answer to me."

So much for being less imposing.

Mustang clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the room in earnest. His eye stopped when he hit Edward, who Al imagined was probably glaring in return, and then flicked to him.

"Before we move onto policy and your new assignments, there's another order of business to be addressed," he said coolly. Al gave him his best blank look, and checked to make sure his fingers weren't curling.

"The first person in history to receive a posthumous National Alchemist certification is standing in this room," Roy noted dryly, his expression never changing. "He's also the first person to survive it."

Most of the men and women in the room chuckled, and Al forced himself to take a deep breath.

They'd treated him like this in the reception, too. He could understand Mustang and his subordinates avoiding the subject earlier, considering the importance of stopping the bomb test, but now –

"I believe everyone in the room is familiar with the name Alphonse Elric." Mustang glanced out over the assembled alchemists. "He passed the written exam at the age of eleven, but chose not to take the practical due to the rather unfortunate evidence that he had attempted human transmutation. Does anyone oppose his keeping the certification?"

There was only a brief pause. "Speaking of which," a grizzled old man called out, "do you plan to press charges, given the rather unfortunate evidence that he succeeded the second time around?"

A murmuring sprang up, and Al carefully didn't look towards his brother. That was another of the fake automail's perks; Edward wouldn't be discovered to have committed the same crime. He really doubted even Hakuro would go after them for their attempt to transmute their mother all those years ago, but there was no doubt Edward had pursued his certification with the sole purpose of transmuting a Philosopher's Stone to try the criminal act again.

And there was no doubt in anyone's mind that a Philosopher's Stone had been used to return Alphonse Elric to his human body. The doubt lay in which of the brothers had actually used it. Al was pretty sure he'd manipulated the story enough to absolve his brother of that particular crime.

Assuming he could convince his brother to keep his mouth shut if it came to that. Which probably wasn't going to happen.

Though, to his credit, Ed was remaining silent. Al didn't dare look at his expression, though. He was already pushing his luck. Taking the orders from First Lieutenant Ross on the train before Ed could, snapping in the car when Ed had mentioned Mustang's role in taking Eckhart's airship, and above all, the conversation they'd had just before they left Central -

"The reason human transmutation is banned," Roy stated in a deceptively quiet voice, "is because of the almost universally unpleasant results. I doubt anyone in this room knows them more intimately than the Elrics. I'd say Alphonse has suffered an equivalent amount to his transgression."

The room was silent for a moment.

"You're the boss," the old alchemist finally replied. It wasn't one that he recognized, and the man didn't sound particularly disappointed.

Al resisted the urge to shake his head. Would no one say it?

Would no one ask him to answer for his crime?

"Any other objections?"

The silence stretched on, second after second, and Al dared to scan the faces of the men and women nearest him. Most were looking at him, and some were smiling.

So the answer was no.

"I do," Al announced, taking a step forward to separate himself further from his brother. Colonel Hawkeye was giving him a sharp look, but he focused instead on Mustang, who cocked an eyebrow.

"On what grounds?"

"Two reasons, actually." Al half-smiled. "The first is my second name. Winry doesn't like it. Was it Parliament's first time naming an alchemist?"

To his surprise, Roy actually laughed. "It wasn't, but I see your point. What's your real objection?"

He'd rehearsed this a thousand times in his head, but now that he was there, under the surprised scrutiny of so many accomplished alchemists, he found himself hesitating.

He'd made nii-san leave it behind. He'd made him face the consequences.

It was time to face his own.

It was time to move forward.

"I can't figure out why you, of all people, would give me such an honor for killing thousands." He narrowed his focus to just Roy, studying his face and his visible eye for any hint of reaction. "I transmuted the gate that allowed the Thule Invasion to take place. Granted, they might have managed it without me, but I certainly facilitated their efforts. I fail to see why I should receive a reward for such a thing."

Mustang's face was impassive, though the response of the room was significantly more animated. Most of the comments he drew from the general din sounded shocked, which surprised him; he'd explained all this in the reception. He'd flatly stated that he had transmuted the gate using two Homunculi in order to give his brother a way to get home, and from that Gate had poured enemy airships.

He'd found his brother by transmuting a piece of his soul into an enemy's armor. He'd known full well that a powerful enemy was on the others side of that Gate, and he'd not taken a single second to consider the threat he had invited into the city.

He hadn't even considered that they _could_ threaten his world. And if they did, that he wouldn't be able to stop them.

After around half a minute of deliberation, Mustang lifted a hand from behind his back to gesture for silence. Al was shocked to see that he'd donned an ignition glove at some point.

"Would you prefer to be treated as a war criminal?" Mustang asked him, once the murmuring had halted. "I believe you were thirteen at the time, so you likely wouldn't be facing much besides a few years' imprisonment."

"My age had nothing to do with it." He fought to keep anger out of his voice. Mustang, of all people, was going to try to rationalize this away? "I knew there was an enemy on the other side of that gate, I was there when they first appeared in Lior –"

"Ah, yes," Mustang interrupted thoughtfully. "Lior."

Al realized quite suddenly that Roy's expression wasn't blank after all. It was –

Disappointed.

"You've not been back long," he started slowly. "But I would have expected you to have been caught up on your history by now."

Al just held his gaze steadily.

"Did you transmute a gate in Lior, prior to the main invasion of Central?"

A few of the alchemists were whispering to one another, and both ignored them. "No."

"Was anyone killed by the advance force that attacked Lior that day?"

"No." Of course, that advance force was already dead, but they'd been animated and had weapons, so it was safe to assume they would have –

"Brigadier General Armstrong, I believe you were present at the event in question?"

Al resisted the urge to close his eyes. It was painfully obvious where Mustang was going with this.

No wonder he was disappointed.

"Yes, sir!" The large alchemist's voice boomed over the crowd. Other than receiving a bone-crushing hug as he'd entered the reception hall, he hadn't really had much interaction with the Strong Arm Alchemist since the hospital. But there was no doubt, listening to his tone, what he thought of this entire line of questioning.

"What happened to the advance force in Lior?"

"Alphonse Elric transmuted a tornado, gathering the soldiers into the air before they could leave the plaza."

Mustang cocked his head to the side consideringly. "A tornado. At age thirteen."

"Yes, sir!"

Mustang returned his gaze to Al, and his voice was positively acidic. "Impressive. Perhaps we shouldn't factor in your age after all." His visible eye was quite flat, and he looked hard at Al for several seconds before turning back to Armstrong. "Were any of the citizens in the plaza injured?"

"The tornado was tightly controlled, and only affected the enemy soldiers. I hypothesize the attempt was meant to steal air from their lungs and render them unconscious, but I believe they were dead before they became visible to us."

"I see," Mustang said quietly. "Thank you, Brigadier General."

A slightly more audible muttering began, and Mustang allowed it before turning back to Al. His expression had cooled significantly. "You've been missing for four years, Alphonse, yet everyone in this room knows who you are. Your name was well-known long before you disappeared from Central that day. No one died in Lior. Do you understand?"

Al realized, somewhere along the line, he'd let his hands curl up. It was his tell; he was going to have to work on it.

So Mustang had given him the honor for what he'd done in Lior, but made it a part of Central's ceremony simply because he knew Alphonse Elric, or at the very least Elric, was a name the average person might recognize.

Then it really wasn't about him at all. It had been done for the people.

Just like Mustang's reinstatement had been done for the people.

And Roy had accepted being brought back into the military at high rank, despite his feelings of failure.

Al finally dropped his eyes, then shook his head. "I understand, but I don't agree."

Mustang took a moment to consider his reply. "Duly noted. Your request for resignation is denied."

Al remained quite still, exactly where he was. He'd expected Mustang to drag his feet, but he hadn't expected –

No. He hadn't looked at it from that angle before.

He had saved lives in Lior.

But Lior was where he'd also attempted to follow those enemies directly through the Gate to the other world, in the stupid hope it would lead him to where his brother had gone. At the time he hadn't known anything about where they'd come from, just that they were alien. And so that event led directly to his standing beneath Central, watching Wrath being bitten in half by Gluttony.

It had led directly to that little girl, clinging to her teddy bear, dying not ten feet from where he and his brother had been standing. It had led to the existence of the airship that had dropped its load of explosive on that street, and two dozen just like it.

The gate Eckhart had been able to create was unstable, and the airships would never have passed through it if not for him.

Why was Mustang ignoring that?

"However, I suppose a posthumous award of this nature could be rescinded, seeing as the alchemist in question is still quite remarkably alive." Mustang's voice wasn't as smug as he'd expected. "You were very badly injured, Alphonse. Have you attempted transmutation since you returned?"

He locked eyes with Roy, but the man never so much as twitched. His expression was one of polite concern.

Was he testing him? Just to see if he'd admit to transmuting the uranium bomb to avoid giving the answer Mustang wanted to hear?

Not that he was even tempted. "No."

"Then I suppose a practical is in order. I believe there are enough National Alchemists present to meet the current quota."

Al took a deep, quiet breath. "I have no desire to be a State Alchemist."

"I don't recall asking," Mustang replied coldly. "A sixth of this city is still in ruin from that day. If you're so eager to take on guilt for that attack, perhaps you should consider indebting yourself to this country in a way that would be of most use."

Al almost flinched, but he wasn't sure anyone would see it but Ed. "I will do my utmost to repair the damage caused and seek the forgiveness of the victims' families, if there is any to be had." He fought to keep his voice steady. "But I will do so without a title I don't deserve." He'd fight to protect Amestris if it came to that, surely Mustang knew it wasn't necessary to put a leash around his neck.

Roy seemed to consider his next words carefully. "You are needed here, Alphonse. If you refuse to choose the method of your practical, I will choose it for you."

He'd been back for almost month. He'd stayed in Resembool because his brother had needed him. But now it was clear Ed was going to be okay. Once that responsibility was met, his second had always been to do what he could to repair the damage he'd caused.

He couldn't make things like they were before. But he could come close.

If he was a State Alchemist, he would be at the beck and call of the Prime Minister. He doubted Roy would waste his time with useless assignments, but that wasn't the point. His responsibilities as a Nation Alchemist would get in his way.

And he was already four years behind.

When he didn't respond, Mustang raised his right hand. His thumb was lightly balanced against the inside of his middle finger.

"Let's see if you're still capable of transmuting."

That was why the room was so big.

Mustang had predicted his objections from the start.

And it was pretty clear, if he acted to protect himself from the attack, he would simply be held to the previously awarded certificate. If Mustang could force him to transmute, he effectively won.

And Al was damn sure that he wasn't going to be Mustang's target. Neither would Ed; the most likely candidate was probably an alchemist nearby.

Probably Franklin. Young, smart – the kid probably reminded him of them.

Al shook his head, slowly. "You always were a bully."

He glanced around the room, noting the high but too-low ceiling. So much for another tornado; at least then he could prevent Mustang from concentrating oxygen with any accuracy. There were few materials in the room that would result in a flashy enough show of transmutation to impress so many alchemists.

So Mustang was even forcing the type of transmutation.

He had every right to be disappointed. The great Alphonse Elric hadn't managed to do a single unpredictable thing.

Al stepped to his left, approaching a suit of armor. It was not like the armor that had been in their basement, nor was it like the Thule's – it seemed to really be a ceremonial suit of armor, and nothing more. He clapped his hands together, completing the circle, then touched them to the armor's chestplate.

It was still frighteningly easy. All he had to do was relax, and a sudden flowing of something cool and liquid shot down his arm. Now that he knew where to pay attention, he could tell the sensation had started where his spine met his neck.

The place where Ed had affixed his soul. Possibly the very place where all human souls seemed to be attached.

The armor animated at once, and he watched it stump towards Mustang. The alchemist watched it approach impassively, though many of the other alchemists in the room were drawing back in amazement.

Ed hadn't managed to do more than tie with Mustang, when he'd fought him. Then again, Ed had been much younger, and he'd really had no idea what he was up against.

Al did. And he was better at hand to hand.

He watched his soul gradually get the idea of how the armor moved, and without a dead body gumming up the motion it was much easier to do than the last time. It still moved very ungracefully towards the Prime Minister, and when the armor was within a few yards of Mustang, it stopped.

For a moment, nothing happened. The armor remained still, and the alchemists in the room murmured.

Then Al smiled, and watched as the armor raised its arms, and clapped its hands together.

It extended the right one palm down towards the ground, and from beneath the carpeting came a stone cylinder. Even as it emerged, it began to narrow its shape into a long, curved sword with an exceptionally long hilt. His soul used carpet fiber to weave the hilt-wrap, and imitated the guard as best it could.

He didn't really want to give Hawkeye a heart attack, but he was rather pleased with the no-datchi. It looked exactly like the longer of the two katana the samurai they had met had been carrying.

General pandemonium greeted this development. Al had never really tried to get the things he transmuted his soul into to then transmute other objects, but the idea had come to him when he'd first sent the piece of his soul beyond the Gate. Since his soul carried his knowledge, it made sense that it would know enough to actually complete a transmutation circle and transmute other things itself.

Only in that world beyond the Gate, he couldn't use alchemy. So while he had thought he might be able to assist his brother with transmuting a way home, in the end he had only managed to recall that piece of his soul.

He also hadn't had the chance to try his theory during the Thule invasion, because the majority of the transmuting he was doing involved controlling the enemy armor. And it wasn't as though the piece of his soul necessary to animate that armor could thus transmute a piece of itself into something else. It would be spread to thin to move anything at that point. It could never become an infinitely cascading transmutation.

Mustang seemed to get the point, because he smiled slightly. Then he raised his right hand, even as the armor slowly readied the sword, and snapped his fingers.

Roy was only aiming to disarm the armor, possibly fearing that he could damage the piece of soul animating the armor if he completely destroyed it. His explosion caught both the slowly swinging sword and the right side of the armor, shattering the sword into several pieces and knocking the right arm from the armor.

Damn.

Of course, the katana – and the clumsy attack – were just the distraction.

Despite the fact that Al was certain Roy hadn't been expecting it, he still responded surprisingly nimbly to the suddenly agile and fast attack of the armor's left arm. The clap to transmute the sword had also altered the shape and fitting of the left arm, attaching it together much more securely. Roy was able to pull his body back from the sudden swing, but not his right hand.

It was caught within the left fist of the armor, effectively stopping his ability to create sparks.

However, with no right arm, it could no longer take advantage of disabling the alchemist, and he watched his soul contemplate flipping the Prime Minister before it decided that probably wasn't wise.

Better to let him save face.

"But I thought you knew better than to bully me," Al finished, noting that Hawkeye hadn't so much as twitched a finger throughout the attack.

Mustang was studying the armor closely, making no move to wrestle it or free his trapped hand. "It even has your eyes," he observed. "That's amazing."

On a whim, Al clapped his hands again, both relaxing and reaching out. He wasn't sure how, exactly; it felt a little like compressing the very bottom of his lungs and . . . needing something. The armor began to shake quite violently, but this time his soul made no attempt to cling to it. The suit of armor completely collapsed as a sudden glob of ice shot through Al's veins, and he took a deep, slow breath, quietly analyzing the images and sensations his soul had experienced while animating the armor.

The alchemists in the room were stunned into enough silence that the armor clanking into pieces sounded deafening. Mustang just tucked his freed right hand into his pocket and studied Al.

"I never liked your title either," he admitted. "Parliament has been naming alchemists by vote, but Fuhrer Bradley always seemed to come up with fitting names himself. Do you mind if I do the same?"

The disappointed look was gone as if it had never been, and Al wondered if that hadn't been affected from the start.

Damn. That smug bastard was still using him. As effortlessly as he had when they'd been kids.

"You're not going to let me out of this, are you." It was a statement, and he let his bitterness be reflected in his voice.

Roy glanced across the assembled alchemists. "Does anyone feel the practical was insufficient to warrant a certification?"

The room was completely silent.

"I'm afraid I can't afford to." For once, he did sound sincere. "This brings me to my next agenda, actually. Will all the alchemists that have formal training in the science of physics please step forward?"

Al just stared at him.

To his right, he noted motion, and he was surprised to see the young red-headed man step forward, so that he was just beside him. In front of Mustang, one of the few certified female alchemists stepped forward. Two more gentlemen across the room did the same.

Mustang's eyes flicked back in Al's direction, and he heard an irritated huff behind him.

Then a reluctant Ed came to stand at his left side.

"We all know the promises of the uranium bomb, and the end result," Roy began. "Obviously that science is still underdeveloped. This is partially the State's fault – we were funding alchemy at the expense of all other sciences. I have no doubt our neighbors are not making the same mistake."

Al blinked, and suddenly things started to click into place.

Of course. The Homunculus were using rumors of the Stone to draw alchemists not only from Amestris, but from other parts of the world. Amestris had the most feared alchemists because they had the largest organized number of talented ones. People like Huskisson could have turned to their neighbors for research funding.

And Mustang also knew the uranium bomb theory wasn't flawed.

Surely he wasn't going to encourage them to pursue that technology after they'd worked so hard to invalidate it . . . ?

"This country has many well-known physicists," Roy continued. "Few of them understand much about alchemy. And, I see few of you have a great understanding of physics. Therefore, the alchemists that have stepped forward – your assignment will be the cross-training of the State Alchemists and the physicists."

Al resisted the urge to look over at his brother. Ed had been silent throughout the entire exchange, and he was a little afraid to see nii-san's expression.

He was pretty sure Ed was going to disobey Winry's no-sparring rule the moment they were no longer in front of so many eyes.

Training the physicists in alchemy was actually an excellent idea. Physics could give them all manner of interesting things. Longer radio transmissions, flying vehicles – supervised inventions.

Nii-san could prevent these things from being turned to destruction. He could jump in, head-first, and prevent the weapons of that world from being developed here. They could take an active role in the industrial revolution that would follow, and they could moderate it.

"You six will remain in Central," he continued. "An academy will be set up, and every State Alchemist will be required to complete a certain number of hours of training per year to keep their certification. The same will be true of the physicists. Only those that complete alchemy training will be given State funds and be allowed to present their inventions to the State for consideration."

This announcement was met with mixed results.

"The physicists have no concept of equivalent exchange –"

"What's to prevent them from seeking funding elsewhere?"

"Physics is barely a science at all! What could possibly be gained-"

"The decision is made, ladies and gentlemen." Mustang's voice cut through the mutters effortlessly. "Outside of this mandatory education, assignments will be carried out like before. As for the past five years, the State Alchemists will have a lesser role in the state military. However, should any major city be about to fall to the enemy, I will expect you to carry out your duties to protect this country."

He remained where he was, hand in pocket, collar unbuttoned, looking for all the world like he had before. Like an alchemist. Like a Major General.

"I will approve all research topics, and I have Parliament's assurance that funding will continue as before. As with Fuhrer Bradley, I will require some proof that progress is being made in your areas of research, but your certification will not be based on that success or failure. I am equally concerned with the accrual of knowledge and its practical application."

He nodded to the gathered men and women. "Those assigned to cross-training, remain with Colonel Hawkeye, who will give you further instructions. Everyone else, thank you for coming. You'll receive more specific instructions via messenger in the next two weeks. Dismissed."

It took a long time for the room to empty, and Al made no move to approach the Colonel. She had tapped a short pattern on the door as Mustang had dismissed the audience, and someone on the outside had unbolted the doors. But she'd been content to stay beside them, and Mustang, as he spoke with the other alchemists. The young woman who had stepped forward gradually approached their little group, but the other two remained on the far end of the room, waiting for it to clear out.

Al realized any excuse to avoid talking to his brother was quickly evaporating, and he readied himself, then turned towards Ed.

His brother was leaning on the wall where the suit of armor he'd animated had been standing, his hands in his overcoat pockets. He was watching the alchemists file out, but he seemed to sense he was being stared at, and he shook his head.

"So that was the decision you made," he finally said, quietly. "Those were the consequences you were dealing with."

Al came to lean on the wall beside him, watching Franklin greet the woman.

"If we stay in Central, you can probably work on both," Ed noted.

Al just nodded.

It hadn't worked out quite the way he intended, but at least now he understood.

Mustang was right. He could be of most help here.

"So, do you want to train the alchemists, or the physicists?"

That was sort of like asking whether he wanted to teach the communists socialism, or the socialists communism.

"I think we need to figure out what everyone else knows, and choose subjects accordingly."

Ed was quiet for a long time. "Al?"

Al glanced at his brother, almost expecting a fist. Instead he saw a frown.

"You don't blame me for those deaths, but you blame yourself. Even though Wrath transmuted the gate."

That was an argument he'd been expecting. "Our father transmuted the gate on your end. You completed the circle because Eckhart was threatening other people's lives. No one was holding a gun to my head."

"I could right now if you'd like." Al picked up his head to see Colonel Hawkeye approaching them. Only a few steps behind was Mustang. "Did you mean to do that, Alphonse?"

He blinked, not sure what she was referring to. "Ah . . . do what?"

Roy joined their group, noting the other alchemists were slowly drifting towards them. "It's not bad," he said gruffly. "Let it go."

Al was stunned when he realized Mustang was talking to Hawkeye, and not to him. "What –"

Mustang's face never changed, but he pulled his right hand partially out of his pocket.

The white ignition glove was stained with blood.

Al only got a glimpse before Mustang surreptitiously stuffed it back into his pocket. "Ceremonial armor isn't as thick as battle armor," he stated simply. "You were expecting the metal to be thicker, and your plating edges to be more dull."

He'd cut him.

And given how much strength he would have been exerting to keep the man's fingers still, he'd probably cut him quite deeply.

Al started to open his mouth, to apologize, but Mustang cut him off with a look. The other alchemists had come over, and he realized Roy didn't want them to know.

Covering for his mistake.

Again.

Maybe things hadn't changed as much as he'd thought.

"By the way," the Prime Minister said conversationally, "I submitted a title suggestion with your test results to Parliament. It wasn't taken, but I think Winry will like it better."

Ed shoved off the wall, coming to stand directly beside his brother. "Oh? And what's that?"

"The Binding Life Alchemist."

The last alchemist to have 'life' in his name had been Shou Tucker, the Sewing Life Alchemist. He wasn't sure he wanted to be grouped into the same category as the man that had transmuted his own daughter and dog into a chimera to keep this status as a State Alchemist.

"I like it," Ed replied slowly. "About time someone had that title that deserved it."

And at least it didn't contain the world 'soul.'

Al chewed on that for a moment, then inclined his head.

Ironic that they would name someone who ended thousands of lives after someone who could fasten them back together again.

"Fullmetal, I'm putting you in charge of this project. I believe you're the most knowledgeable in both subjects."

That was probably true. Ed just snorted.

"Isn't that just like you. Delegate the work and take off."

Mustang took the ribbing surprisingly good-naturedly. "Show some respect. You're addressing your Prime Minister."

"I'm addressing the prime pain in my ass," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Roy took a step closer to him. "Oh, that's right. You're still not tall enough for your voice to carry up here."

Ed bared his teeth, and Al cut in. "Thank you, Prime Minister," he said smoothly, over his brother's grumblings. "Can I assume this is structured classtime, and anything outside of it can be used for our personal research?"

Roy just gave him a look. "You have three years," he said. "After that, I'll expect reports like the others." It was clear his next words were for the other alchemists standing there. "Are there any other questions?"

Unlike the Elrics, it was pretty clear these alchemists didn't have a personal relationship with Mustang. There was a series of thanks and headshakes, and it seemed only seconds before they were watching his retreating back.

Al secretly wondered if Hawkeye was hurrying him out so they could get him some stitches. He'd have to make his apologies later. It sort of saddened him that Riza had thought he might have actually done it on purpose, but then again, if it had been Edward –

"So." Ed was looking around at the other four alchemists. "Are all of you staying in the officer's palisade?"

There was a series of nods all around, including a grudging one from Franklin.

This worked out better than he'd originally thought. Maybe they could eventually get the kid to tell them why he needed a Stone so badly, when he appeared to be physically intact.

"Good." Ed glanced around, apparently making sure Mustang had really left. "Write up what you know. We'll meet at the mess tomorrow morning and sort out subjects."

The others accepted this without objection, and as a group they headed for the ballroom door.

"Come on." His brother nudged him in the side with his elbow. "Let's get out of here."

The walk down the hall was uneventful, and Al noticed that his brother was heading unerringly for Mustang's offices.

Surely he wasn't going to pick a fight _now_-

"I figure Winry's probably with Lieutenant Ross." Ed seemed to be talking almost to himself. "At least this time we can give her good news."

Good news . . . Al considered that as they were waved through a secured doorway. Ed finally had something to do, something that he enjoyed, that didn't revolve around the Philosopher's Stone. They were staying in Central for the foreseeable future. Relatively out of combat, actually, and free to continue their own research. Incidentally, into the subject they'd both studied for several years. He'd been given three years to devote towards repairing some of the damage he'd wrought getting his brother back, and his second name no longer contained the word 'soul'. Mustang had been sworn in and was still alive by the end of the day, and Winry and Ed had come to some kind of understanding.

Yes, he decided, it was good news.

It wasn't the way they'd intended it, but it wasn't bad. Things were going to work out.

They were going to be okay.

All of them.

- x -

Fin

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Look! The END!! You never thought it would come, but here it is! I know this chapter is ridiculously long, but Al really, really wanted a fight, so he got it. I believe it is all wrapped up! All plotholes fixed! All questions answered! All guilt dealt with!

I can't thank you guys enough for all the support. I'm so honored this fic has gotten this popular, and I'm just so excited and pleased that other people liked my neurosis and fixes for the anime. I've since read the manga (which is ridiculously good, by the way, and should be consumed like the anime, as quickly as possible) and it's really just excellent. It's no surprise FMA is so popular in Japan as well as abroad.

And so, they all live happily ever after.

Thank you again for reading!

The following chapter is really just my personal notes on the fic, but includes a bunch of half-started and deleted scenes, so if you want to see how I write and organize my thoughts, read on! You can totally skip the bottom if you're just in it for the outtakes and deleted/rewritten scenes.

If you enjoyed this story, you might be interested in checking out its sequels, Perfect After All: The Fusing Alchemist and Perfect After All: Price of the Past. Both can be found linked to my profile and in the FMA archives. There is also a collection of prequel drabbles that can be found under Perfect After All: Odds Without Ends.


	19. Chapter 19

**NOTE:** For some reason, a notification about **Chapter 18** was not automagically sent out. I posted two chapters this evening – 18 and 19. This is 19. You need to read 18 first, or you will be confused.

Just so you know.

- Mitai

- x -

This is the Notes section, which I figured I'd post because I thought it might be helpful to others to see how I organized things.

The first parts are all bits of scenes that required rewriting or got trashed along the way, and towards the end is the timeline I constructed and the lists of everyone's new ranks so I wouldn't forget them and have to go trolling back through my own fic to find them.

It should be noted that the outline and the production fic are two very different things - that showed the progression of idea to finished product, which maybe explains why I originally thought it was going to be short and sweet and ended up writing a novel. I figured that might be useful to others, too, because I'm sure I'm not the only one that starts a fic with one idea in mind and has the thing change significantly before all is said and done.

So enjoy the bits and if you ever need to borrow the timeline, the early parts are canonical to the anime, and should be pretty complete.

Thanks for sticking with me while I retardedly tried to fix the movie! It was a blast, and I hope you had as good a time as I did.

- Mitai

- x -

Unfinished/Rewritten/Deleted Scenes:

- x -

She didn't even hesitate as she raised the rifle to her face, bracing herself in case Breda couldn't catch himself in time. She'd meant to call out, but her voice was gone, her heart was far too high in her throat to allow her to say anything at all.

She was sure if she did, it would be a scream.

She hadn't seen it. She hadn't seen it. Her eyes were tired from the strain and the battle and the gunpowder, and she'd seen it because she'd wished for it. That was all.

It wasn't a sniper's rifle that Breda carried, much closer to an automatic machinegun than anything else, but it still had a sight, albeit a non-adjustable one. Her eyes were good enough without her normal scope, though, and she barely registered the crash behind her that signaled Breda's encounter with the ground. She scanned each piece carefully before moving onto the next, then the next – he'd be spreading his limbs to increase wind resistance if he was still conscious –

He was.

She tried to speak, but realized that she'd stopped breathing. All she could do was watch. She couldn't get a good enough view with the scope, could make out his arms and legs and face, but not his expression. His hair was dancing frantically and obscuring his features, but she could make out that eyepatch, the way he was calmly relaxed. So he was calm, he'd expected this –

She wanted to search, to make sure Alphonse wasn't with him, but she couldn't take her eye from him. In only a few more seconds he'd fall from view, and then it wouldn't matter –

She tried to call out, she really did. He wouldn't hear her, just as he hadn't heard her before. She'd been too late to retreat to the atrium, to climb in that gondola with him. Just as he was nearly even with the horizon, she saw him arrogantly raise his right hand in front of his face, in the same motion she'd seen from him a thousand times before, and then her view was obstructed by the nearest building.

No.

She dropped the rifle; it was useless now, she couldn't see. He'd fallen only a few blocks away, a mile at most. She could be there in seven minutes tops if she ran.

Seven minutes too late.

The ground trembled slightly beneath her feet even before the distant sound of an explosion reached her ears, and it was the only sound she heard as she began sprinting towards it. He'd used his alchemy one last time, but why? The fall would have killed him, was he trying to destroy his own body . . .? Or –

Or was he trying to save it?

After the blast, she heard nothing at all. Not her own breath, not her pulse, not the sound of her feet as she flew over the dead in their strange suits of armor. Her boots were sure despite the dust and the smoke and the slick blood, and while the battle had changed the landscape of the city, most of the main streets were still clear enough to pass. Her path took her directly by the military hospital, its wide stone stairs cracked nearly in half by the massive earthquakes.

Oh, how she'd wished he'd never set foot in that place again. How long he remained bedridden in that hospital, staring out the window with that blind eye of his. The one she felt she'd given him, by not taking care of Archer in time.

She'd wished with all her heart that he'd never have to smell the antiseptics, never have to again bear the pain his physical therapy had caused him. But now she regretted that wish, and made another in its place.

Let him survive to walk those stairs again.

- x -

He registered the footsteps, too close and obviously not armor, but it didn't slow him down. Rarely did Breda fight with a gun, preferring to toss grenades at distance, but he was still a trained soldier, and he was still in the middle of a combat zone. He'd turned and already had the rifle trained when it was wrenched cleanly out of his hands.

He sprang forward to follow it, registering too late that the hands that had taken it were attached to arms in the blue uniform of Amestris. Her hair was mostly hidden in her combat helmet, but he knew who it was just by the way she'd spun and raised the rifle, using its scope. He wrenched himself to the left, unable to stop his leap at her but at least able to dodge her, and he sprawled very gracelessly into the rubble a foot behind her.

First Lieutenant Hawkeye didn't so much as glance his way. By the time he'd rolled painfully to his side, she'd taken a combat stance, the scope to her eye and the rifle pointed towards the falling debris. Her shoulders were rigid and squared, and she was holding her breath.

She was going to fire? But surely she could see that the armored units had already destroyed whatever it was. She'd lost her own sniper's rifle at some point; it was no longer strapped to her back, so that was why she'd taken –

She was dropping the rifle fairly quickly, obviously trained on some target, but she didn't shoot. His position on the ground behind her allowed him to see that she was following one particular piece of the debris, and the closer it came, the more he realized it wasn't just a piece of metal or stone.

It was a person.

The limbs weren't flailing, and it was very hard to see without the magnification of a scope, but it was certainly not a suit of armor. Surely it wasn't Alphonse, he would have transmuted the falling remains around him by now. And it couldn't be –

It couldn't be the colonel.

He'd imagined the ignition line. Surely it wasn't Mustang.

Hawkeye shakily expelled her held breath, and his horrified ears heard the word colonel in it.

No, that was impossible. It couldn't be, it just couldn't –

Just as the plummeting figure hit the line of damaged city buildings and fell from Breda's view, he was certain he saw a thin, brilliantly yellow line shoot towards the ground. He felt the rumble in the cobblestones beneath him before he even heard the explosion, and he ignored the clatter of his rifle hitting the ground, ignored Hawkeye's sudden sprinting, until the dust from the explosion floated hazily over the buildings and into view.

An explosion . . .

A body wouldn't make that kind of impact, no matter how fast it hit the ground.

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring a small piece of rubble that cut deeply into his palm. Lieutenant Hawkeye was already halfway across the plaza, leaping over the dead suits of armor, and Jean Havoc was staring after her with a suddenly exhausted look on his face.

The rest of the flaming debris was starting to hit the ground as well, and some of the smaller chunks began to hiss into the plaza rubble.

"Miss Hawkeye!" a thunderous voice called, and the shirtless and enormous form of Alex Louis Armstrong shot past Breda. A moment later his legs were pumping, too. He didn't remember making the decision to start running.

That had been the colonel.

He'd set off an explosion just before he'd hit the ground. To buffer his fall, use the shockwave to slow himself down . . .? But with the debris falling, he'd get crushed. So would Riza, she hadn't even redrawn her handgun, if any of those suits of armor were still active –

"Lieutenant!" he shouted.

She never looked back.

- x -

Breda rubbed the back of his neck as he slung himself into the chair on the other side of her rather intimidating mahogany desk.

"I have bad news, then I have worse news. Then I have possibly the best worst news you've ever heard."

Colonel Riza Hawkeye didn't look up from the document she was perusing. He'd have just come right out and said if one of the brothers had died. It was still hard for her to think of them as 'brothers' instead of 'boys,' but then again, she thought of all of the officers that worked in the Major General's office, that were of the male persuasion, as boys.

These were all her boys, regardless of their ages. She and Sheska had to take care of them, because they were completely incapable of taking care of themselves.

Adding Ed and Al back to that group would be unexpected, but not at all unpleasant.

So it was really more of a difficulty thinking of them as men instead of children.

Ed and Al would always be the children that never got to be. From the moment she'd seen him, Edward Elric had always behaved like an adult, and Alphonse had always been treated as one because of the armor. Now it was too late for both of them. They were truly grown. Alphonse, much more than Edward. He looked almost a decade older than he had when he'd left, he looked almost the same age Edward did.

Maybe going through the Gate . . . twice, now, since she'd last seen him, had somehow aged him? Maybe the age of his soul had causes his body to race to catch up?

"I'll take the best worst news first," she finally addressed the officer in front of her, glancing at the second page of the document. Breda wasn't really even looking at her, so she knew her split attention wasn't bothering him.

"One of Hakuro's boys worked in the lab with Frettley, and notified Parliament about the bomb and where it came from."

. . . rats.

Hawkeye let the document fall back to her desk, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "What else?"

Breda pursed his lips. "The thing is a bomb, designed by some scientist named Huskisson-"

"Physicist," she corrected. "Sheska already dug up that information from a report Edward Elric filed with the major general some years ago. Apparently the physicist also dabbled in alchemy and attempted human transmutation an in effort to escape the Elric brothers."

Breda just nodded. "Not only is it a bomb, but it's supposedly powerful enough to destroy Central. The entire thing," he added. "There's no doubt Parliament is going to want to study something like that."

She just nodded. Damn. They'd been trying to keep research on the odd object Edward and Alphonse had brought back with them quiet, on the off chance it was something like the Philosopher's Stone, and better left unexplored.

- x -

Of course, she'd also spent the last three days sitting with both the brothers, but mostly with Al, because Ed was still sedated. She'd need him awake when she fitted the automail, to make sure he could still manipulate it, but once she'd gotten his measurements, she'd been working in Al's room. Half because the alchemists were there, and half because Al was starting to wake up.

And yet, as far as she'd heard, he'd yet to utter a word. He'd not so much as lifted his arm. They knew with the massive blood loss and the elapsed time, that the doctors were afraid that Alphonse Elric was simply never going to be the same, having suffered too much damage. She'd known that Roy felt the same way when she'd returned with the envelope to find him with a piece of cinder in his hand, finishing a transmutation circle around the young man.

She really wasn't sure that he wasn't as good at healing alchemy as the Tringum brothers, but there was no doubt they'd had more practice. He'd done what he could to keep Al alive until the ambulance had arrived, and hastily poured the Red Stone pieces back into the small envelope. The envelope they'd passed onto the Tringums as soon as they'd arrived.

But all the Red Stone was gone. And she was tempted to dig in the ruins of the Fifth Laboratory for more, at this point. The terrible hole in his throat was now completely gone, just a red mark on his otherwise unblemished skin. The bulletwound no longer needed to be wrapped at all. But she knew that internally, he hadn't fully healed. While he was starting to stay awake longer, he seemed unable to much besides look at them.

- x -

Which meant they were going to have to go over every inch of it, reconstructing as they went.

Which was something he couldn't have done with Al's armor, because it would have meant changing the blood seal on Al's armor, thus releasing his soul and effectively killing him.

And there was no doubt a human soul was not affixed to a flesh and blood body the same way.

This was going to be dangerously close to human transmutation.

"That's okay." Ed hooked his left arm over the edge of the cart, and was all set to hoist his right leg over when strong arms wrapped around his bare chest.

"I told you not to do that, stupid."

Getting out was almost as graceless as getting in, but soon Ed found himself half lying on his right hip, trying to get the weight off the left stump. Winry had laid a few blankets down to pad him, but he gladly would have sat on the stump itself.

"Fletcher. I need you to draw this." The fact that he was having to draw the circle at all bothered him, but there was no time to get his arm attached. It would take hours, and now that they knew what might be wrong with Al, he wasn't going to leave his brother trapped in his own body like that for one more second than was necessary.

"Ed –"

"You two can do this, right?"

The Tringums glanced at each other, then at Al. "Probably, yes," Fletcher offered from the floor, "but we can't-"

"I know how to keep his soul affixed to his body." Al was shaking Winry's mechanism again but Ed ignored him. "The three of us will do this."

The Tringums exchanged glances again, and then looked back at Al. He was still vehemently shaking his hand 'no.'

"Al." He paused, looking over the circle Fletcher was copying from his sketch. "If we don't do this, you'll be like . . . like you are now, until you die."

Al stopped moving, then shook his hand again, once.

No.

"You'll be like sensei." Constantly sick, constantly needing treatments just to keep surviving.

Ed turned towards the Tringums. "If you don't want to be involved, I'll do it myself."

- x -

He didn't even hear the words. All he saw were the lines of black, stretching towards them. The pairs of eyes, all so different, watching.

Wanting.

They went for Ed first. They always went for Ed first.

"NO!" If nii-san thought he was going to stand idly by, he truly didn't remember anything.

Al threw himself at his brother's back, catching the shorter man easily around the head and his outstretched right arm. The scar from the foxbite was still there, just as large as it had looked on another, all those years ago. It was truly the same arm, and it had grown to the proper length as though it had always been there. Just as his seventeen year old body had been as though he had lived in it all seventeen years.

He stared at the scar, barely having time to really see it before the Gate had them.

Tiny, greedy hands trailed across his body, winding around his waist, his arms, his neck. Snakelike, but somehow flat, somehow neither warm nor cold. More of them than he remembered before, though. He couldn't even see through them, couldn't warn the Tringums to stay back.

They were . . . somehow behind them. They had been part of the transmutation circle, so it followed they were – here. At the Gate.

But further from it than nii-san and he. They were almost a safe distance, if there was such a thing.

Light pierced his tightly-shut eyes, and Alphonse Elric dared to open them. To see where they were going. Back to Earth, probably, but at what cost? And where? To London? They had no doppelgangers to draw their souls, this time. Would they just appear right back where they started?

But as his eyes opened, he realized he didn't see blinding light streaming by. It was the same, foggy golden world that existed just outside the Gate. The arms were withdrawing.

Just like they had when he'd been on the airship, hidden in the armor. Except in the airship, they hadn't touched him.

He still had his brother in half a headlock, and he was still hanging onto an arm. Disbelievingly, Al pushed himself away even as Ed tried to shake him off.

Ed still had a right arm.

There was no port there anymore. No metal, no stump.

Al took a step back, glancing down. Ed still had two legs.

What the hell . . . ? What had made the Gate release them?

Dread plunged his insides into ice water, and Al whirled, trying to find the Tringums. What had Russell done? Surely Fletcher wouldn't have let him do anything stupid –

Fletcher was hanging onto Russell for dear life, and the older brother was struggling with all his might – to come to them. He was trying to get to them.

"Stay back!" he bellowed, turning to look back at Ed.

- x -

It all happened so fast.

One moment he was struggling as hard as he could to cling to himself, to the feeling of the floor beneath his skin, the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms. But it was a losing battle, and he couldn't move his jaw, couldn't tell them to hurry –

And the same quiver ran up his spine. Like it had when he'd fallen onto the transmutation circle.

There is where it was affixed. That spot exactly.

That was the place and the moment his soul left his body. And when he looked up, there was the Gate waiting for him. Just like it had before.

And there was Ed. Just beside him, maybe half a step ahead. The scar from the fox bite was readily visible, and the arm was exactly the right length. As though it had grown with his body instead of being torn off Wrath and cast into the Gate more than six years ago. Just as his seventeen year old body had been as though he had lived in it all seventeen years.

Al chanced a glance around him, noting the two figures to his right, and far behind. Somehow further from the gate, almost a safe distance, if there was such a thing.

They'd brought them here. Russell and Fletcher were now going to have to pay a price, as they had. No one could see the Gate without paying that price.

No one except him.

"When I told you my soul detached easily, I was serious." It was a little bitter, which he didn't really mean, but –

When was Ed going to accept that he wasn't going to let nii-san die for him?

Probably the same day he accepted that nii-san wouldn't let him do the same.

So, never.

Ed's face was lowered, his eyes closed. Behind them, Al could hear a scuffling sound, followed by Fletcher's stunned voice.

"That's-"

He didn't seem to be able to find the words.

Ed apparently didn't need any. He simply started walking forward.

Towards the Gate.

He was going to do the same thing he'd done, all those years ago. Sacrifice himself for them.

Al moved to grab him, but suddenly Ed's arm blocked his way.

"I'm sorry." Ed sounded so weary. "I didn't catch it in time."

As if he could have.

There was an impossibly heavy, earthen creaking, and Alphonse watched in horror as darkness began pouring out of the Gate. The lines of black, stretching towards them. The pairs of eyes, watching.

Wanting.

They went for Ed first. They always went for Ed first.

"NO!" If nii-san thought he was going to stand idly by, he truly didn't remember anything at all.

Al threw himself at his brother's back, catching the shorter man easily around the head and his outstretched right arm. Ed didn't even have time to try to shake him off before the Gate had them.

Tiny, greedy hands trailed across his body, winding into the spaces between him and Edward. Just like the time he'd stowed away in the armor, they didn't touch him. His flesh didn't start glowing, didn't start flaking apart into base molecules. The tiny hands covered the scar on Edward's shoulder, inching between his brother and his arms.

Loosening his grip.

"No!" He wouldn't let go of him, couldn't. Even as tiny little black fingers coiled over his, prying them up at the fingernail. As a little child might pry at the hands of an adult hiding something good to eat.

"Al." His voice was calm. As though he wasn't, literally, cocooned in the black denizens of the Gate. "Let go."

"NO!" His arms were no longer touching Ed – he was clinging only to the darkness now. "ED!"

Other arms snaked out of the Gate, taking Ed from the ones that separated them. The hands never grabbed Al, they merely formed a retreating barrier that prevented him from touching his brother. It seemed only an instant before the struggle was over.

"EDWARD!" Russell's voice cracked with the volume.

The black lines retreated with an audible giggle, and the eyes kept watching, laughing as the Gate's doors swung solidly closed.

Al found himself running towards the Gate before his brain realized what a bad move it really was. He could pull it open, pull Edward out. It wasn't too late, he was still in there –

Desperately, he clapped his hands, completing the circle, and flattened them

"Give him back!" he screamed, pouring all his resolve into the words. "We don't owe you anything! Give him back!"

- x -

No one had heard the door open, but all eyes turned to see a rather unkempt-looking major general standing in his office door. His uniform jacket was half unbuttoned, though not nearly as completely as Breda's, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Heymans knew he'd been holed up in his office for the better part of the night, and he'd been there since they arrived, but he wasn't sure Mustang could really account for all his time last night. Unless someone had been in the office to see him –

Then again, he really wasn't completely, entirely sure that Mustang was responsible for this. For one, if he'd somehow rigged the bomb, he was pretty sure Hawkeye would have shot him by now for taking the risk. Even if it had been successful.

Besides, how do you rig something like that? Was the bomb simply a dud? Wouldn't there be evidence that it had been tampered with, even if he was an alchemist?

Hakuro just glared at him, and Mustang glared right back. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He neither saluted nor addressed Hakuro respectfully, and the general bristled.

"I know you're responsible for this, Mustang," he spat. "And I'll prove it."

Roy just tucked his hands into his pockets, leaning comfortably against the doorjamb. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he responded in that infuriatingly arrogant tone. "I left the hospital and came straight here. The guards at the base entrance can tell you as much. After you left, Alphonse briefly woke, and was able to explain the technique he and Edward Elric used to destroy the gate on their side after the Thule invasion. I've just been confirming that it should have been sufficient enough to prevent it from being opened again –"

"Preposterous! If that was so, how did they return?" Ah, so Hakuro's idea now was to discredit the Elric brothers by making it seem as though their return had thoughtlessly endangered Central once again?

"The Law of Equivalent Exchange," Mustang replied. "The last of the invading forces died in custody a few weeks ago. Since we no longer had that side's forces, ours were returned as well. Alphonse Elric had transmuted a piece of his soul into one of the armors in my hallway when he and Edward speared the commanding airship four years ago, so his soul was drawn back to a place it had previously occupied –"

"Enough of this!" Clearly Hakuro wasn't in the mood to be lectured on the finer points of alchemy. And even to Breda's albeit ignorant ears, that sounded like a load of shit. He didn't know how Ed and Al had managed to return, and it probably did have something to do with the fact that Alphonse had once transmuted the suit of armor in the hallway, but the rest of it . . . the time discrepancy, for example . . . Not that the General would ever ask, of course. Mustang could make this stuff up all morning and the rest of the military would take it as law.

Pity Hakuro had slowly weeded out all the National Alchemists under his command. If he hadn't spent the last four years holding them responsible for his failure to defeat . . well, Havoc, during the Northern Rebellion, he'd have someone on his side that could call Mustang out.

Mustang just raised an eyebrow. "Sir, every second of my time in the last sixty-two hours can be accounted for," he stated. "How could I have possibly had anything to do with the unfortunate accident this morning? I wholeheartedly support our forces in the North, and am actively looking for ways to end those rebellions. Sabotaging a theoretically powerful weapon for political gain is not in the country's best interest." He pushed off the doorframe, coming to stand in the main room with his officers.

- x -

She eyed the shining piece of steel and chrome, and her expression, as usual, was sour.

His heart sank.

"Those were the ingredients you gave me-"

"I shouldn't have to tell you that heat changes a metal." Granny's voice was as rough as usual, though her tone was patient. "Can't you heat it before you shape it, or at least change it so it takes on the characteristics of folded metal?"

Al dragged a hand across his face, eventually palming his chin and sighing into it. "Well, do you have an example of steel that's been folded three hundred times?"

The old, somehow tiny woman snorted indelicately, and tottered over to a workbench. It was . . . unthinkable, in the four or five years since he'd last seen her, that Grandma Pinako would have gotten . . .

Well . . .

Old.

"And here Winry was bragging about how useful you alchemists were," she grumbled, bending before an old desk drawer. Al barely ducked in time to avoid being clobbered in the head with a scrap piece of metal, and despite Pinako's unhurried movements, a frightening number of projectiles were hurtling from that drawer.

"Well, she didn't have her drill press –" He decided to move, rather than risk being hit again. "- or her big files, so it was the Tringums or nothing."

The old woman half-straightened, turning back to him and taking several strides before she was no longer stooped.

"I suppose you're better than nothing," she admitted, "but honestly, Alphonse, alchemists are just too perfect. Real metallurgy doesn't mix steel and chrome so completely, and it's the fact that there's more chrome on the surface that makes a good mixture."

Al accepted the nugget of shiny silver metal from his 'granny,' turning it over in his hands. He briefly tucked it between his teeth as he brought his hands together, and then he took it back in them and formed it into a perfect cylinder.

The act of reshaping it required him to disassemble it, thus showing him the characteristics of thrice-hundred folded steel.

- x -

to test the effectiveness of sulphur dioxide as a means to kill people rather than the more common diesel exhaust? That the very doctor he had been working under for seven months, the one obsessed with Napoleon, had simply been trying to substantiate claims that the Frenchman had been using that gas to kill rebellious slaves in the early 1800s?

He'd never perform thoughtless alchemy again, but not saving a life when he could would be equally wrong.

- x -

Al took a deep, relaxed breath, and released it slowly. Then he stiffened. "Hey, nii-san, before we left, did you get any further on the electron theory?"

Ed blinked, momentarily side-tracked. "Oh, particles versus waves?"

Al nodded. "It'll be harder to prove here, that electrons are the equivalent trade."

Ed rubbed his chin, noting the stubble there. He'd forgotten to shave; he needed to do that before they arrived at Granny Pinako's, or she'd –

Well, it didn't matter. He could grow a beard if he wanted to. He didn't care what she thought of it. Since he was no longer a dog of the military, it wasn't like he had to follow the Germans' ridiculous requirements. If they'd maintained their troops properly, there wouldn't have been a lice problem to start –

"We should see some evidence of them disappearing. Or perhaps a lack of one of their forms."

"Ugh, we'd have to build all that equipment from scratch." Al leaned off the doorframe, cocking his head down the hallway.

"Al?"

He frowned, apparently listening, and Ed glanced at the hollow armor laying on the bed beside the clothes bag. He knew he'd have to put it on for the train-ride, but it pinched his elbow every time he bent it more than forty degrees, to the point a patch of his skin was rubbed quite raw.

- x -

"I think that should do it."

Aunt Pinako eyed him up and down critically, her hands behind her back and her pipe steady. He'd seen that look before, though not in many years, and it still made him feel the need to impress her.

Regretfully, he probably only looked as slightly different to her as she did to him. He was, perhaps, three or four inches taller. But more than tall, at least he'd filled out. Gone was the skinny, wiry kid that had glared about level with her.

Now he stood in that place. Glaring very pointedly down.

And where a wrinkled, strong old woman used to regard him in her hunter green dress and faded but clean white apron, there stood a slightly more stooped version, sporting the same gravity-defying, pointy, steel grey bun and straightpipe.

He supposed he couldn't fault her for wearing her work clothes, and having them unchanged. He himself was sporting a black tunic with a white-trimmed jacket, black trousers, combat boots, and red overcoat. His braid was in place, though a bit longer, and he'd shortened his bangs a little. He figured if he had to return to Central as the Fullmetal Alchemist, he might as well look the part.

As for the 'Panthress of Resembool,' she was old enough to wear whatever the hell she pleased.

Ed tried not to smirk as they played their 'who's gonna blink first' game. He always lost, and wasn't planning on changing that anytime soon. They'd deal with changes enough when they got to Central. Apparently he really was that famous, now. He was going to have to hit the restored First Library and see exactly which of his writings had been entered in as texts. Possibly his first project would be re-writing all of them.

Ed broke eye contact first to glance at his approaching brother, and he resisted the urge to sigh.

More changes. Probably for the better, though.

Al was coming down the stairs, shrugging a medium brown overcoat over his cream-colored button-up shirt, and visibly attempted to ignore his brother. His slightly darker blonde hair had been pulled back in a loose ponytail, and his five-o'clock shadow was getting more pronounced. He and Al hadn't discussed it, mainly because it didn't need to be discussed, but Al was probably going to grow a beard.

Well, if he wanted to look like pops, that was fine. Considering Al's record of clothing, Ed was a little surprised that he even knew how to pick out anything original at all. He'd had his clothes picked out by his mother until he was ten. Then his older brother had picked out the single suit of armor he got to wear for a few years, until he reverted back to a human and emulated pictures of his brother until he was seventeen. After that, he wore a series of generic work clothes followed by a government issue uniform.

And after all, while the color scheme reminded him very much of Hohenheim, the clothes themselves were a good deal less . . . dandy. He'd picked up some sense of style somewhere. The ivory button-up was practical and made out of a good traveling fabric, and it also gave him a more welcoming image. His trousers weren't much different than Ed's, actually, save they were the same color brown as his duster. Which wasn't exactly like their father's, either; more pockets, for one, and a more weather-resistant fabric as well. His boots weren't combat boots, necessarily, but they were hiking shoes and water-repellant.

And at least he hadn't put on glasses. Ed wasn't even sure their father had needed them.

Ed just raised an eyebrow, and Al finally gave up, and looked at him. His expression was so hopeful Ed barked out a laugh.

"Huh," was all he said, but Al grinned.

"Not bad," Pinako murmured as Al came to stand beside his brother. It was just as high of praise as Ed had given. "The two of you look almost respectable."

"An illusion that'll last about ten seconds," Winry murmured darkly from the doorway. "You two are lucky one of our clients is a tailor of that caliber, or you'd be arriving in Central looking for clothes."

"Speaking of which," Al murmured, glancing up at the sun, "we should be heading out."

The ever so slightly more stooped Aunt Pinako just raised her eyebrows, and brought one hand in front of her to take the pipe out of her mouth.

"Behave. An occasional call would be nice. I packed your lunch." She glanced at their feet, where a nice basket lay next to their new suitcases. "Have a good trip." Then she clamped the pipe back between her teeth and headed back to the porch, where Den was waiting. He'd seen them leave before, and was getting too old to bounce around like the puppy they all knew he still was. Inside, anyway.

Ed smirked, and glanced at Winry as she trudged down the porch stairs towards them. "I'll try not to break it the first day."

She just raised one eyebrow. "Knock yourself out," she replied. "I'm going to Central tomorrow for the inauguration. I'll be sure to bring a spare everything."

"I still don't see why we can't claim you transmuted the automail into a real arm and leg," Al muttered. "The way Fuery made it sound, everyone's going to think you still have the Philosopher's Stone anyway."

Ed ignored him. If that was true, they'd only keep believing it for the first ten minutes he was in the city. After that, everyone who didn't believe him when he said he would kill the next person to transmute one would be hurting.

Winry was looking more at Al than him, and Ed simply bent and picked up his suitcase. They really hadn't said . . . well, anything about the conversation they'd had in the basement. No one mentioned it during meals, during the refittings, the training . . . it was like they'd all agreed that it hadn't happened. He was wondering what she and Al had discussed in the twenty or so minutes they'd been down there, but all Al would say was that she yelled at him for being stupid, and he'd agreed, and then she'd told him a little about what had been happening in Central.

And Mustang's last little stab at them, on the off chance they could ever return –

"You've got that look again," Winry noted, and Ed straightened, carefully schooling his expression. She narrowed her eyes. "And that one."

Ed looked towards Al as innocently as he could. "So, let's go already."

Al glanced between the two of them before he also bent and picked up both the suitcase and the basket. "Bye, Aunt Pinako! Bye, Den! And I guess we'll see you tomorrow."

Pinako was now standing on the porch, and just inclined her head. Den wagged his tail. Winry gave a little wave.

"No sparring," she added. "Not even a little bit."

Ed rolled his eyes. As if they'd spar on the train. Although, he was expecting to have to put that armor to use pretty soon, considering the reception they were likely to get at the platform. Oh, he looks just like he did before, how cute! Look, his little brother is still taller than he is! I bet he's still wearing the same automail!

"She's right, you do have that look," Al murmured to him as they turned to leave.

"What look?"

"The same look you always got before inspection, prior to your becoming a doctor, and you knew they were going to hassle you about your hair."

Ed found himself grinning. Yeah, he hadn't been too fond of that either.

Beside him, Al took a deep breath. "God, I'm glad this world isn't industrialized yet."

"No such thing as God," Ed reminded him, but he, too, looked. He'd been looking all during training, actually. Hours and hours of forms, staring out at the hills, practicing with these new almost-limbs. They felt nearly alive, almost like automail. But he couldn't use them that way; they were padded, but his arms still took some of the pressure of blows against them. His previous automail had hurt if it was ripped off, or badly damaged, but usually it just . . .felt weird during combat. In the past, it hadn't actually pained him to catch a sword with his forearm.

He was going to have to get used to the idea that if he used this stuff carelessly, it was actually going to hurt. Breaking the arm inside the armor wouldn't be the end of the world, he could still use it to fight, but it wasn't automail.

For one thing, his arm never used to sweat inside itself. That was going to take some getting used to.

But if it had to sweat, he was glad it sweat under this sun. This sky. Resembool would never be their home, never again. But he was glad, no matter where they went now, they would always be under this same sky.

Some of the constellations had looked different on Earth. That was something he'd never been able to figure out. Human life was so similar, but the universe itself so vastly different. Before Al had come back with him, he'd stare at the deep blue sundrenched sky and think of this place, this world. He'd feel warmth on his face, and he'd be hopeful that he'd find a way.

And he'd see those foreign stars, looking up on those nights that never seemed to end, and the loneliness ached worse than automail.

It was still pretty early in the morning, and the dew was preventing any dust from being kicked into the clean dawn air. Smog would come to dirty this sky, and with it all the machines and conveniences and the hustle of that world. But not yet. For now, like Al had had once before, he had a chance to experience everything again, one more time. Before it changed.

Ed shook his head at himself. He was actually looking forward to getting back to Central, getting into the swing of things. Too much time out here thinking was bad for his brain.

He was ready for work. And he needed it. Needed it more than the whimsical thought in the back of his mind, that, even though he knew it could never happen, when they'd once wished to see their mother's smile, one last time -

She'd be smiling at them now.

"You coming?"

Ed glanced at his brother, suddenly realizing that he'd never actually started walking. He stared at this new Al, this National Alchemist of a brother he had, and he sighed.

This really was a new beginning for him. The first time Al, with all his memories, would walk into Central with his body. Putting forth the image he wished to put forth, instead of the armor, or an image he'd superimposed on himself. The first time he'd choose to face all those people as he was now. The hospital probably counted, but considering he couldn't speak until the end, and Mustang had kept his officers out of the picture -

That reminded him. It was probably going to be harder to pick a fight with Mustang, now that he'd have guards all the time. What a pain.

Ed took a few steps, the same steps he'd taken a dozen times before, down the same road, with the same gravel rocks that it had had for the last fifty or so years. This was how so many of their journeys had started, for better or worse. He still remembered exactly many steps it took to get to the station. But now that his stride was longer, he'd have to count them again.

Ed hesitated, then stopped dead in his tracks, plopping the suitcase down on those familiar little rocks. Then he sighed again.

Stupid brain. He couldn't wait to get to work.

When nothing happened, other than Al pausing to look at him curiously, Ed looked back over his shoulder. He wasn't surprised to find Winry waiting exactly where she'd been before. Where she'd always been.

But now his stride was longer.

All three of their strides had changed. It was time to start counting things again, instead of taking them for granted.

"Winry, we're going to miss the train."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly a moment, something biting already on the tip of her tongue, and he didn't let his expression change as he watched realization dawn. Of course, he supposed he could have been clearer about the invitation, but he didn't really need to, and Al was probably going to give him a hard time as it was –

"-oh!"

She turned immediately, but carefully didn't hurry up the porch steps, and her mutters about 'inconsiderate' and 'no time to pack' carried just far enough that he could hear there was no venom in them.

Once she was safely in the house, Al set down his load as well. He put his hands in his pockets, watching Aunt Pinako on the porch. The woman didn't appear moved by the sudden change in plans, just stood there with her round-lensed glasses reflecting the perfect day back at them.

"We really might miss the train, you know."

Ed leaned all his weight on his armored leg, testing the balance again. "I know." She knew everything, now. Or near enough. Probably more than any living soul besides the two of them. "Her choice to come along anyway. Be rude not to wait for her."

Al just nodded, then he laughed.

Ed just stared at the Rockbell house. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," his brother responded immediately.

Edward Elric waited impatiently for the blonde with the suitcase three times his size to eventually emerge from the house. "New journeys, right, Al? No sense making the same mistake right from the start."

If it had been a mistake to keep her at a distance, if they all regretted it that much,

- x -

"Well, we got him into it, but there was a little whining," Kain admitted, offering a pocket-sized clipboard. "The alterations were correct, but he said the collar made his head look like a mushroom."

"If he would cut his hair occasionally . . ." Sheska's voice was slightly muffled by her bent position, comparing her list to the cardboard rectangles spread on the table before her.

Havoc was straightening his stripes and frowning at the silver waterpitcher that was doubling as his mirror. "You didn't tell him his head always looked like a mushroom?"

The colonel accepted the outstretched clipboard, and mentally ticked another item off her list as she observed all the boxes, neatly checked. The Prime Minister was officially dressed, at any rate.

Well, no, he could be standing in his boxers protesting his new uniform, but at least he had all the pieces of it in his office. "Speaking of mushrooms, did Breda ever settle the hors d'oeuvres with the caterers?"

"I don't know, ma'am," Fuery responded, accepting the clipboard back with a salute. "I'll find out right away!"

"No hurry," she replied, eyeing the ballroom hall turned loitering area. All corners were clear, all tables were arranged in neat and symmetrical patterns across the floor, and there were no places to hide. Besides, any assassin would be an idiot for thinking the State Alchemists' reception was a good place to blend in.

Next agenda – check on Falman. He'd been placed in charge of the parade grounds and the lawns. She and Jean had put their own sharpshooters in the best nests, but there were always the utility tunnels that ran beneath the Parliament House, and of course the access corridors that led to the telecommunications hubs. There was no need to doubt that the second lieutenant was doing his job, but they'd assigned him some enlisted that she wasn't sure were capable of tying their shoes, let alone securing something so huge.

This was a logistical nightmare. They'd never had this to-do with the Fuhrer, since no one dared try such an open act of aggression –

Not that it would have mattered, of course. In Bradley's case, at any rate.

Hawkeye paused, and then smiled slightly. "Fuery, I don't suppose you checked the Prime Minister for an ouroboros tattoo when you delivered his uniform, did you?"

Beside the refreshment table, Havoc laughed low in his throat. "That's not funny, colonel."

Sheska didn't look up from her badge-checking, but Kain turned a delicate shade of green. ". . . y-you're joking, right?"

Hmm.

- x -

She couldn't help it. The moment she was close enough, she enveloped him tightly into her arms.

He still wasn't quite as tall as she was, and she was by no means a giant, having already been dwarfed herself by Mrs. Armstrong about a half-hour ago. She'd only hugged him once as a child, and at that time his head had rested just above her left breast.

But she wasn't hugging a child, anymore. She needed to remember that.

Now his head was beside hers, his chin on her shoulder. Somewhat surprisingly, he accepted the inappropriate greeting, even going so far as to haltingly return it. She held him only a few seconds before releasing him and drawing back, smoothing the creases she'd put into his too-familiar black jacket as she did so.

"Edward," she greeted, delighted to see that a surprised and possibly pleased smile was threatening to overwhelm the scowl he'd been wearing as he'd come through the door. He had decided to go the tradition route, she noticed; he was his own spitting image, just a bit older and a bit taller. The same blonde bangs softened his face, and while it was less round it had lost none of its seriousness. His golden eyes were clear and bright.

A little something, tightly wound and in the vicinity of her belly button, slowly relaxed.

Maria had been right.

Ed was okay.

Right behind him came his younger brother, who had abandoned his serious look for a grin the moment she'd dared to touch Edward. She gave Alphonse the same treatment. Here there was no hesitance; he returned the embrace with feeling. Of course, he was slightly taller than Mustang, so now it was her chin resting on his shoulder, but it was a very comfortable one, and it smelled nice.

"Colonel Hawkeye." He released her with a squeeze and stepped back to survey the office. "I see you have everything under control here."

"Looks can be deceiving," she noted, moving past him to hug Winry. She was a little surprised to see the young woman with them, but pleased; if the Elrics really were going to remain on this world, let alone in Amestris, her presence would be just what they needed to ground them back to life here.

"I didn't realize you were coming, too! I doubt there's room in the hotels, but I'm certain Black Hayate wouldn't mind sharing the guest room with one of his favorite humans."

The two women turned to look back at the Elric brothers, who were taking in the old offices they hadn't seen since they'd last been stationed in Central, well over six years ago. The rooms hadn't changed all that much, though now they were nominally used by Colonel Mazo. She'd commandeered them as a sort of base of operations for the Prime Minister's security forces here in Central, and there were many familiar faces gathered around the tables.

"I think the Elrics are giving up one of their suites," Winry replied at her left, as they followed the brothers inside. "But thank you for the invitation. If they get too big-headed, I'll probably take you up on it."

Riza smiled, nodding to Falman as he caught her eye. "They may be a bit insufferable after the Alchemist's reception," she admitted, "but I believe the Prime Minister has something in mind that should put them back in their place by dinner."

Winry snorted. "Al, maybe, but Ed's as bad as ever."

Hawkeye watched Vato shaking the brothers' hands. "That's good to hear."

"Yes," Winry agreed.

"You may be wondering why the Master Sergeant and the First Lieutenant brought you here first," she prompted, when pleasantries had been exchanged. "The paperwork reinstating your citizenships has been processed with . . . unusual alacrity."

Al just shook his head with a smile, but Ed's scowl returned. "Hakuro's still after us?"

"Your desertion from the military six years ago still stands," she reminded him. "With the destruction of Lior, there were bigger things for this government to worry about than arresting you. Because of the extenuating circumstances, you are currently not to be placed under arrest or charged until a full inquiry can be launched. However, we do now need to finish debriefing the both of you. Failure to have those documents completed could result in unpleasantness as word of your arrival spreads through the base."

She watched both of them digest that information. The Prime Minister could get them out of serious trouble, but she still wasn't sure General Hakuro was going to let the last several weeks slide. Since the citizenship had been reissued almost four days ago, they were lucky enough no one had been sent down to Resembool to drag them back. Hakuro had been too busy to pursue his pet projects with the increase in hostilities, but this would not stop him from ordering Edward taken into 'protective custody' for the remainder of the ceremonies, should they encounter one another prior to the inauguration.

A full debrief on the events that brought the Elric brothers back to this world, however, would eliminate the excuse of 'protective custody,' and also close the book on any future military aggression from that world.

She just hated to drag them both back through those memories immediately before shoving them into a reception filled with their peers, who would be just as eager to hear the details.

"First Lieutenant Falman will take your statements," she continued. "Please answer his questions concisely. Due to the sensitivity of this information, you will be interviewed separately, but I don't anticipate the interviews to take more than twenty or so minutes." She expected a protest, but neither brother said anything. "After the debriefings are completed, you will be shown to the State Alchemists' reception, where you will be instructed further regarding your part in the inauguration ceremony."

- x -

Everyone that has already knows the joys of raising a child though they may have none of their own.. We all suffered through the day to day struggles, the excitement of first words, the dread of the first fever. We didn't have a choice. A Brigadier General by the name of Maes Hughes saw to it."

More shouts, again from the military benches.

"I served with him for years, and I don't believe a single day went by that I managed to avoid seeing a picture, or hanging up a phone call before he could tell me about her latest discovery. We could be out on the middle of a battlefield, and he would be

- x -

"For those who have not served, you may not know of Elysia, or her lovely mother Gracia. But anyone that has served in the Amestris military in the last decade, no matter their position or station, could pick them out of the most crowded street."

Hawkeye dimly heard a few shouts, but couldn't make out the words.

"My critics have pointed out that I have not taken a wife, and I do not have a family of my own," he continued. "They use that as evidence that I am too single-mindedly interested in military affairs, and will have no attention for domestic issues. They have obviously never served in our country's military. Not a one of us missed watching Brigadier General Maes Hughes' daughter grow up. And not for lack of trying," he added dryly.

"Her father was possibly the most annoying man I've ever had the pleasure to be enlisted with. He was also the man that taught all of us two very important things. The first was that the day to day struggles of having a family, and raising a child, were of the utmost priority. They take precedence over meetings, over paperwork, over battlefields.

"The second was to always keep multiple copies of pictures of your children in your wallet, because new soldiers enlist every day."

This time civilians could join in on the joke, and to her relief, most did.

"Maes Hughes died seven years ago, protecting this country," he continued, his voice strong and steady. "He was an exceptional soldier, husband, and father. And as you saw earlier, he is not forgotten. His family is remembered by every man and woman you see today wearing a uniform."

- x -

"I'm sorry to trouble you again, but there's something I'm not quite clear on."

Al glanced over his shoulder at the speaker, recognizing him from the reception. They were no longer sitting in front of their name placards, but Al couldn't recall if the young man had been one of the alchemists seated, or in the ring of people that had surrounded their table. He had short-cropped, curly red hair and sharp green eyes, and his nose was rather large and bulbous.

"Ah . . . Franklin, wasn't it?"

The young man smiled, nodding. "Very good. We actually met when we were boys, but I doubt you remember. In Lior, about four and a half years ago."

Al thought back, then shook his head politely. "I'm afraid I don't. Actually . . . were you one of the children Rose was looking after?" It seemed to him there had been a redhead running around the plaza giving Rose quite a headache, but if he had been one of her charges, it hadn't been for long . . .

The redhead grinned, and Al noted that his brother had finally glanced over at Franklin, eyeing him up and down before feigning disinterest in the conversation. They were still walking, following the line of State Alchemists towards a smaller audience chamber, where they were going to be addressed by the Prime Minister.

Ed was obviously looking forward to it. An opportunity to take some of the wind out of Mustang's sails following a surprisingly successful speech. He didn't know the relatively quiet man had been capable of something that heartfelt. And improvised, as well.

Maes would be very proud of him.

"I used to play with them," the alchemist laughed, refocusing Al's attention. "My parents owned a donut shop just north of the main square."

He nodded. That explained only the passing memory. "Honey glazed, if I recall."

The redhead nodded again. "Back at the reception, didn't you say that the Crimson Alchemist destroyed Scar's left arm?"

Al nodded slowly. "Scar deconstructed it off his own body to prevent it from exploding." And thus performed human transmutation, the most taboo of all Grand Arcanum for the Ishbals.

"And he transmuted the materials of his other arm into your armor body to reverse the effects of Kimblee's explosive transmutation."

He noticed his brother's step falter ever so slightly, and he held back his smirk with effort. They'd hurriedly agreed on what to keep to themselves, but hadn't had time to get specific about the details before they'd been ushered into the reception, where they'd instantly been surrounded. Ed had slunk off before he'd gotten very far into the story, and so he'd had to improvise.

As far as he was concerned, it was up to Ed to figure out where he'd 'found' a Philosopher's Stone. They'd agreed that they would admit it had restored Al's body, but also agreed to fib a bit on the details.

"Once he'd decomposed his own arm, he'd realized how Kimblee was beginning the reactions," Al said quietly. "And thus he learned how to stop it." It wasn't as farfetched as it sounded, actually; if Scar had been more knowledgeable about alchemy, he might have been able to simply rearrange the armor without transmuting the incomplete Philosopher's Stone into it in the first place.

Of course, that might have resulted in the erasing of the blood seal, but technically it should have disappeared when that part of his armor had turned to incendiary material. He'd probably unconsciously spent some of the incomplete Stone just to keep his soul tied to his body during its change.

Franklin nodded. "And all this happened prior to the army advancing into the city."

Al pursed his lips, following the line of alchemists around a corner towards the double-doors of a large auditorium. It had to have. He didn't really recall seeing many soldiers before –

Before the transmutation circle was activated.

When Scar died.

"But then . . ." The alchemist frowned. "If he didn't have arms, how did he throw Kimblee's body off the wall?"

"You know, I've wondered that." Al glanced up to see his brother studying him, his expression slightly confused. "It was Scar, not Lust, that threw Kimblee's body in view of the army."

"He kicked it," Al replied. "Down the street. I don't actually know how he got it up the stairs. Lust must have helped him."

"Because she wanted him to transmute the Stone," the redhead concluded. "Which means it was transmuted. That's where you found the Stone, isn't it. You took it from the Homunculus."

Ed didn't reply, just shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

Franklin turned back to him as they passed through the doors. "I don't get it. If you're both admitting to human transmutation, and say that a Philosopher's Stone is created by killing thousands of people, why not just admit that you took the Stone created during the destruction of Lior?"

Al shrugged as well, scanning the room. It was an old auditorium, empty of chairs or tables. Suits of armor – not Thule, he noted wryly - lined the marble walls, and the rectangular shape reminded him more of a ballroom than an audience hall. It was a wide open space, and could easily accommodate ten times the number of people.

Rather sloppy planning, considering an enemy could be hiding in one of those suits of armor. Then again, anyone stupid enough to try to assassinate the Prime Minister in a room of fifty battle-trained alchemists was too stupid to actually succeed.

"You'll have to ask Edward," he finally replied to the other alchemist's question. Edward had taken up a position fairly close to one of the suits of armor, hands in his pockets and bangs in his face. Clearly he was tired of talking, but Alex Louis Armstrong was never put off by something as subtle as body language. He was currently trying to engage nii-san in booming conversation, and Al smiled at the scene.

"If you'll excuse me."

Franklin acknowledged the request with a wave, and Al approached his brother and Armstrong. Alex was extolling the greatness that was Roy's acceptance speech, and despite his ducked head, Ed looked very pleased.

Proud of Mustang, was he? Or did it have something to do with the odd little smile that had been cropping up periodically since he'd returned from wherever it was he went?

Al had his suspicions, but he wasn't about to ask. He was pretty sure Ed had gone to talk to Winry. It was the only reason he'd have left the reception before they'd fully agreed on the story they were going to give their fellow alchemists.

It was the first time he'd seen nii-san smile like that since they'd left Germany.

And whatever they'd said to each other, apparently it had ended rather positively. That was all he really needed to know.

Al grinned to himself and stepped close enough to be welcomed into the conversation. He need not have actually gotten within fifty yards of the large and muscular Brigadier General to hear him, and he tried not to listen closely as the man's shining face turned to him.

"ALPHONSE ELRIC! IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG! HOW YOU HAVE GROWN!"

Alphonse allowed himself to be embraced tightly enough to hurt, and he patted the suddenly weeping Armstrong strongly on the back, just to make sure he felt it. "You too, Alex. I see you're doing as well as ever."

"It is true!" Armstrong agreed, wiping his mustache as it dripped with tears.

- x -

He didn't get time to get much more out before the chatter in the auditorium died down, and Al glanced over his shoulder to see Colonel Hawkeye step into the doorframe. She glanced around the room, spending more time looking over the armor than the alchemists, and just behind her came the familiar figure of Prime Minister Roy Mustang.

The doors were closed firmly behind him, and he wasted no time in unbuttoning the collar of his dark, stiff jacket.

A few of the alchemists guffawed, and he gave them a dark look. "I'd have complained, but I'm terrified of my seamstress."

That earned a round of laughs, and Al was startled at the camaraderie with which he was treating them. He was also a State Alchemist, but now he was the equivalent of the Fuhrer. Al had expected him to take a slightly less casual role with them.

Once he was a little more comfortable, and a little less imposing-looking, Mustang glanced around the room. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice," he started. "The Parliament has granted my request of full control of the State Alchemists. As of now, you all answer directly to me."

So much for being casual.

He clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the room. His eye stopped when he hit Edward, who Al imagined was glaring in return, and then flicked to him.

"Before we move onto policy and your new assignments, there's another order of business to be addressed," he said coolly. Al gave him his best blank look, and tried to remain relaxed.

"The first person in history to receive a posthumous National Alchemist certification is standing in this room," Roy noted dryly, his expression never changing. "He's also the first person to survive it."

Most of the men and women in the room chuckled, but a hitched breath told Al the Strong Arm Alchemist was still weeping. His brother was watching him curiously, but Al ignored him, turning back towards Mustang.

Nii-san probably had his suspicions by now, but Al really didn't expect him to get involved.

"I believe everyone in the room is familiar with the name Alphonse Elric. Does anyone oppose his keeping the certification?" Mustang glanced out over the assembled alchemists. "He passed the written exam at the age of eleven, but chose not to take the practical due to the rather unfortunate evidence that he had attempted human transmutation."

"Speaking of which," a grizzled old man called out, "do you plan to press charges, given the rather unfortunate evidence that he succeeded the second time around?"

A murmuring sprang up, and Al resisted the urge to look away. That was another of the fake automail's perks; Edward wouldn't be accused of the same crime. He really doubted even Hakuro would go after them for their attempt to transmute their mother, but there was no doubt Edward had pursued his certification with the sole purpose of transmuting a Philosopher's Stone to try the criminal act again.

"The reason human transmutation is banned," Roy stated in a deceptively quiet voice, "is because of the almost universally unpleasant results. I doubt anyone in this room knows them more intimately than the Elrics. I'd say Alphonse has suffered an equivalent amount to his transgression."

The room was silent for a moment.

"You're the boss," the old alchemist replied.

"Anyone else?"

The room fell back into silence. Alphonse let it stretch on, daring the scan the faces of the alchemists around him.

None were giving their dissent.

"I do." Al took a step forward, separating himself slightly from the crowd. He kept his hands at his sides, forcibly reminding his fingers to relax, and ignored the sharp look he was getting from Colonel Hawkeye.

Roy merely cocked an eyebrow. "On what grounds?"

"Two reasons, actually." He half-smiled. "The first is my second name. Winry doesn't like it. Was it Parliament's first time naming an alchemist?"

To his surprise, Roy actually laughed. "It wasn't, but I see your point. What is your second objection?"

He'd rehearsed this a thousand times in his head, but now that he was there, under the surprised scrutiny of so many accomplished alchemists, he found himself hesitating.

He'd made nii-san leave it behind. He'd made him face the consequences.

It was time to face his own.

It was time to move forward.

"I can't figure out why you, of all people, would give me such an honor for killing thousands." He narrowed his focus to just Roy, studying his face and his visible eye for any hint of reaction. "I transmuted the gate that allowed the Thule Invasion to take place. Granted, they might have managed it without me, but I certainly facilitated their efforts. I fail to see why I should receive a reward for such a thing."

Mustang's face was impassive, though the response of the room was significantly more animated. He lifted a hand from behind his back to gesture for silence, and Al was shocked to see that he'd donned an ignition glove at some point.

"Would you prefer to be treated as a war criminal?" Mustang asked him. "I believe you were thirteen at the time, so you likely wouldn't be facing much besides a few years' imprisonment."

"You knew I wasn't dead," Al replied, not allowing the change in subject. "You know that given the chance today, I would do the same."

Roy stared at him, and Al realized his expression wasn't blank after all. It was –

Disappointment.

"You've not been back long," he started slowly. "But I would have expected you to have been caught up on your history by now."

Al just held his gaze steadily.

"Did you transmute a gate in Lior, prior to the main invasion of Central?"

Some of the alchemists were still whispering to one another, and he did his best to ignore them. "No."

"Was anyone killed by the advance force that attacked Lior that day?"

"No." Of course, that advance force was already dead, but they'd been animated and had weapons, so it was safe to assume they would have –

"Brigadier General, I believe you were present at the event in question?"

"Yes, sir!" Al didn't have to look to know that Armstrong had ditched the weeping, and his face would be at attention and extremely serious.

Then again, it was obvious where Mustang was going with his line of questioning.

"What happened to the advance force in Lior?"

"Alphonse Elric transmuted a tornado, gathering the soldiers into the air before they could leave the plaza."

Mustang cocked his head to the side consideringly. "A tornado. At age thirteen."

"Yes, sir!"

"Where any of the citizens in the plaza injured?"

"The tornado was tightly controlled, and only affected the enemy soldiers. I hypothesize the attempt was meant to steal air from their lungs and render them unconscious, but I believe they were dead before they became visible to us."

"I see," Mustang said quietly. "Thank you, Brigadier General." He turned back to Al, and his eye was flat. "You've been back for three weeks, Alphonse, yet everyone in this room knows your name. You had made a name for yourself well before you disappeared that day. No one died in Lior. Do you understand?"

So Mustang had given him the honor for what he'd done in Lior, but made it a part of Central's ceremony simply because he knew Alphonse Elric, or at the very least Elric, was a name the average person might recognize.

Then it really wasn't about him at all. It had been done for the people.

Just like Mustang's reinstatement had been done for the people.

And Roy had accepted being brought back into the military at high rank, despite how he felt he had failed.

Al dropped his eyes, then shook his head. "I understand, but I don't agree."

Mustang took a moment to consider his reply. "Duly noted. Your request for resignation is denied."

Al brought his eyes back up, not so much surprised as angry. It was fueled by Mustang's expression, which was now vaguely amused.

That smug bastard.

"However, I suppose a posthumous award of this nature could be rescinded seeing as the alchemist in question is still quite remarkably alive. You were very badly injured, Alphonse. Have you attempted transmutation since you returned?"

He locked eyes with Roy, but the man never so much as twitched.

Was he testing him? Just to see if he'd admit to transmuting the uranium bomb to avoid giving the answer Mustang wanted to hear?

Not that he was even tempted. "No."

"Then I suppose a practical is in order. I believe there are enough National Alchemists present to meet the current quota."

Al took a deep breath. "I have no desire to be a State Alchemist."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion," Mustang replied coldly. "A quarter of this city is still in ruin from that day. If you're so eager to take on guilt for that attack, perhaps you should consider indebting yourself to this country in a way that would be of most use."

He almost flinched, but he wasn't sure anyone would see it but Ed. "I will do my utmost to repair the damage caused and seek the forgiveness of the victims' families, if there is any to be had." He fought to keep his voice steady. "But I will do so without a title I don't deserve." He'd fight to protect Amestris if it came to that, surely Mustang knew it wasn't necessary to put a leash around his neck.

But he couldn't forget the little girl that had died not ten feet from him, when the airship dropped its load of explosive. The airship that could not have traveled intact through the indistinct gate that had both transported and killed those soldiers in Lior.

He knew it wasn't completely his fault. He'd been a child, after all, and he hadn't known what was going to happen. But he had known there were enemy soldiers where his brother was. He had known they meant to threaten his world.

He simply hadn't considered that they could threaten his world. And that if they did, that he wouldn't be able to stop them.

Without that gate, the attack on Central couldn't have happened on the scale it had. Not if Wrath and Gluttony hadn't been there, and Wrath would never have been there if he hadn't gone to try to open a door to that world in the first place.

The last thing he needed to do was sully the name of State Alchemists, when it was revealed what part he had actually played in that invasion. It wouldn't reflect as poorly on the government, or the State Alchemists, if he just refused the award. It would appear that they hadn't know what part he had played.

It was the only out he could think to give Mustang.

"I refuse to take the practical."

For a second, the room was quite silent. That was probably a first, too – no one who had been asked to take the practical exam had ever declined. Many had taken it and still not been chosen for the certification.

Mustang watched him for several seconds, and then he casually raised his right hand. His thumb was pressed lightly against his middle finger, and the threat was obvious. "Reconsider."

"You can't threaten me into this," Al told him quietly.

"Watch me," he replied. "This county is dangerously close to collapse. Our neighbors would love to pounce, faith in the government is low, and

- x -

Very early Plot Thoughts:

- x -

Al transmuted part of his soul into several suits of armor at the base of the building they used to spear the airship in the movie. Those suits of armor eventually were shot by troops, and one was presented to Mustang in recognition of his work for saving the city (it was never revealed publicly that Edward Elric returned, nor that Alphonse Elric went across the gate - he was listed as missing presumed dead.)

Al is drawn to that suit of armor, making Ed and the bomb appear in Mustang's offices' front hall, where they are eventually found by Sheska and Havoc. Ed eventually regains consciousness with no memories of his time with Al on Earth, but his body is as it was when he left Earth, and the nerve endings in his stripped automail are completely destroyed. Winry realizes what must have happened to Ed.

Alphonse returns to the suit of armor and they don't find him until several hours later, when the suit of armor is found to be bleeding. He is near death and alchemists, using the Red Stone left over from the Fuhrer's plots, are able to save his life.

Ed wakes up very briefly after arriving in the office hallway, and sees the uranium bomb. His voice is very hoarse, as if he has been screaming. He tells them all what it is and asks where he is. When he learns where he is, he asks where Al is. When he hears that only he and the bomb arrived, he hyperventilates and passes out. Due to the damage to his automail limbs and his generally poor condition, he remains unconscious for eight days.

When Alphonse comes to, he learns that Mustang has risen through the ranks of the military once more, and the Parliament is seriously considering him as their next Prime Minister. Due to the loud entrance of the Elric brothers, he was unable to keep the uranium bomb a secret from the Parliament, and they are now deliberating what to do with it. Al can't speak, so he writes on notepaper what it is and what he needs to do with it. Mustang can turn it over to Al but lose his re-elevated position. Mustang eventually hatches a plot that will allow Al to decompose the bomb by making it look as though the bomb detonated, but had none of the explosive potential they thought it had. This invalidates further research on uranium bombs in Amestris.

Winry and Al tell Ed what must have happened to him after he becomes irrationally afraid of the new automail Winry has made for him. Ed notes that he still cannot remember, but they figure if he knows what it was he had forgotten, if his memories ever return, he will not be completely unprepared.

Mustang theorizes that Ed lost the traumatic memories of torture because as Al pulled them through the gate, he alone is the only alchemist that can pass through the Gate without harm, his soul having been permanently Gate-proofed by sacrificing his entire body. He wanted to make Ed the way he was before more than anything, but because he was so close to death, he didn't have the resolve to bring back Ed's limbs. All he could do was make Ed the same way he was when he went through the gate and arrived to see the gypsy and Alfons dead in Germany.

- x -

Timeline of the anime/movie:

- x -

1923 on Earth - two years after the boys left Amestris at the end of the anime, beginning of Shamballa

Ed was born on Feb 2, 1899

Al was born in 1900.

Ed was twelve when he was certified in 1910 (Al was ten, according to Wikipedia)

Ed is eighteen in the Earth year 1923 (1917 in Amestris)

Al is seventeen in the Earth year 1923 (1917 in Amestris)

Stuttgart, 1927 - Ed is 23, Al is 22

Free State of Wurttemberg, 1924 - Ed is 19, Al is 18

Amestris, 1921 - Ed is 23, Al is 22

Sergeant Sheska

Master Sergeant Denny Brosh

Colonel Riza Hawkeye

Major General Roy Mustang

First Lieutenant Maria Ross

Lieutenant colonel Jean Havoc

Frettley - lab tech

Major Heymans Breda

Patterson - Ed and Al's doctor; first year, friend of Breda's

Brigadier General Louis Armstrong

General Walthers

Dr. Klein

First Lieutenant Falman

- x -

Timeline of Gate travel of the two brothers:

- x -

Ed:

First time: Went to the gate. Traded leg (supposedly) for soul of his mother. Then traded arm for the soul of his brother.

Second time: sent through gate by Dante. Dante paid the price of transfer?

Third time: used alchemy and the Earth-version's death to get to the gate, forced way out when Dante summoned the gate and it took Wrath's/Ed's arm and leg back. Ed fought his way out of the gate. Arm/leg paid for Ed's escape? Or arm/leg taken and nothing gained? Free escape?

Fourth time: Died. Stayed at the Gate until resurrected by Al.

Fifth time: Went through the Gate. Resurrected Al as the ten year old. Paid for the resurrection by giving Al's memories of the last four years? Paid for the transfer by losing the arm and leg? Had automail joints and same body - where did the automail come from? From his father?

Sixth time: Went through the Gate in a rocket built by Alfonse. Alfonse then died. Paid for transfer with Alfonse's death? Hohenheim and Envy paid for transfer? No apparent payment.

Seventh time: Went through the Gate in the Thule rocket. Eckhart paid with body changes? No apparent payment.

Eight time: Ed paid for transfer by allowing the Gate to keep his arm and leg. How he passed through the gate without paying since his arm and leg were taken from Envy.

Al:

First time: Went to the gate, lost body and gained what? Ed paid price to affix Al's soul with his right arm.

Second time: Died when his suit of armor was used to resurrect Ed. Stayed in the gate in his ten year old body until resurrected by Ed. Paid with four years of his memories.

Third time: Sent piece of soul transmuted to armor. Paid by Hohenheim/Envy? Paid by Eckhart? No apparent payment.

Fourth time: Piece of transmuted soul crossed Gate back to Al. Paid by Hohenheim/Envy? No apparent payment.

Fifth time: Went through the gate in the Thule rocket. Eckhart paid with body changes? No apparent payment.

Sixth time: Went through the Gate with Ed. Death of humans on Earth paid for transfer/Al was still owed? No apparent payment.

- x -

Later Plot Thoughts:

- x -

Left to do:

- Explain six year discrepancy between Earth and Amestris

- Get Ed into Al's room to keep his soul attached to his body.

- Get the Tringums to reconstruct Al's body (not human transmutation if the body is alive and still has a soul, as proven by Shou Tucker until he tried to use Al's armor)

- Two limbs taken from Wrath, nothing was gained. Wrath had taken them originally from Ed.

- When Sloth died, Ed should have gotten leg back. When Al was no longer bound to the armor, Ed should have gotten arm back? All he learned was necessary to barter with the Gate, so no price attached to the knowledge of soul binding

- Ed resurrected Al - brought body back from the Gate, soul adjusted to new body by forcing suppression of memories? Ed paid for this by sacrificing his arm/leg? Or by agreeing to be separated from Al by going to Earth? Possible plot-hole.

- Al tried to make Ed the way he was before, including removing the memories that would have rendered him useless. He was dying as he bartered, and Ed instinctively relinquished his limbs to ensure Al could cross the Gate. This was unnecessary. The Gate will take what it can get, but if fair trade is enforced by the will of the soul bartering, it will play fairly. Call it mischievous.

- Al gained the ability to traverse the Gate at will by giving up his entire body to the Gate, as Ed paid the cost of getting their mother's soul back, and simply making an empty body does not require the Gate. Because he gave up his body for four years, he has a certain number of trips through the Gate without paying a toll. He has used nearly all of them.

- The Gate tries to call Al's soul as his body is being healed, and both boys end up at the Gate. Ed forces it to give him his arm and leg back - thinks he sees Wrath inside, chucking them out?

- Ed has been paying the toll of traversing the Gate by not requiring his limbs be returned to him. Now that they are, he can no longer traverse the Gate without paying a toll. He may or may not be able to encounter the Gate without paying, depending on the circumstance, but he can no longer cross without paying.

- Mustang smuggles the brothers into the lab where the bomb is being kept. Transmute the uranium until it is relatively safe and the fission reaction will not happen. Weaken the shell's structure so the bomb will go off sooner than later.

- Bomb detonates in the wee hours of the morning. One technician sees it go off. Explosive output extremely weak. Uranium bomb testing is halted for the foreseeable future in Amestris due to analysis of bomb.

- Assumed Mustang will become Prime Minister. Assumed he will now pursue Riza. Both boys have original bodies back. No reason to go back to Earth. Ed and Al begin to teach alchemists physics and physicists alchemy. Story ends.

- x -

Input from Reviewers

- x -

Suggested plotholes:

How did the city below Central appear so suddenly?

Scar and his arms in Lior - how did he throw Kimblee off the roof with no arms?

How did Ed's automail get discovered?

- x -

Left to cover:

Ed and Al meet Roy's subs - Denny's POV

Ed's automail removal revealed? Where?

Riza and Roy getting ready for the inauguration - Roy's POV

Roy is inaugurated - Roy's POV

Ed and Al talking to the National Alchemists prior to meeting Roy - mention Lior - Al's POV

Alchemists meet Roy and Al is given his practical and renamed - Al's POV

Roy announces alchemists will take physics, physicists will take alchemy

- x -

Created creepiness through new Gate Theory:

Izumi's uterus, ovaries et al are running around in the Gate

Scar's brother's genitalia is running around in the Gate

Izumi parts Scar's brothers parts = more Gatebabies?

- x -

Clues to Al's desire to turn himself in:

Is sharp with Ed about Mustang's role in the Thule Invasion

Says that his brother is going to the First Library - not himself

Says they won't need both rooms

Inquires about posthumous award - doesn't necessarily indicate he is pleased

Says that Mustang has a plan for Ed - does not include himself

Says he made his own decisions, and he deals with the consequences

Avoided mentioning it to Ed during their 'conversation'

Afraid of the 'orders' Maria delivered to Ed on the train

Asked Mustang to determine if the man blamed him


End file.
